


For Whom the Stars Shatter

by Cirrocumulus (orphan_account)



Series: For Whom... [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Post-Time Skip, Sexual Content in Chapter 1 + 4, Specific Tags in Chapters, Twenty Years Later, Vaginal Sex, blowjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 20:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cirrocumulus
Summary: “I would have made you Queen of Almyra, eventually”, he whispered against her collarbone, sensing her discomfort. Part of her could have indulged in that fantasy, even then, but whenever she raised her eyes to wrinkled folds born from laughing she would count his crow feet like the years that passed.20 years ago, Fódlan had been granted peace by the King of Almyra in a battle written down in history. Now, the anniversary crept ever closer, and with it old feelings and new ambitions. But time divides people, and he had been giving his away while she seemingly hoarded hers. Yet the rings on their fingers were ever present, stuck in pipe dreams of the past.





	1. Wyvern Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction has spoilers for the end of the Golden Deer route. Read at your own risk - and if you do, please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific Tags: Vaginal Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Female On Top

The Wyvern Moon was upon the people, casting razor sharp winds down the mountains that howled like beasts when they came into contact with Garreg Mach, never to be tamed, even in the presence of Fódlan's most Holy.

If one were to gaze outside they would see the skyborn creatures roam the heavens in midflight, casting shadows upon those below. Ever since peace returned there was little for them to guard, and yet they did so all the same, priced possessions of a land with relations to the outside world. If one knew what to look for they could differentiate between them, pick out the Almyra bred ones from those native to Fódlan, make out the difference in wingspan and the lighter scales, and put them all into context with a personality fit for a King instead of an Archbishop.

When _she_ looked at them she would search for white amongst the brown, equally unsure of whether she wanted to find what she was looking for – or not. So whenever the sky was kind enough not to tempt her she felt relieve upon being granted a moment of peace to gather her thoughts. Time ran fast in Fódlan, chased pegasi from dawn till dusk, and so she had half forgotten how to count it. It was more the faces of those she would instruct that reminded her of time's everlasting march rather than any calendar.

Her own body was exempt from it all, it felt like, as she still stared into youthful lines instead of crow feet whenever she passed by a puddle of rain, of which there were many at this time of year.

She stepped over one of them on her way throughout the monastery, her lips forming greetings to the knights, merchants, nobles and commoners alike. It was when she had crossed the bridge leading to the church, a place that had known destruction but shined like a newborn nowadays, that she was stopped in her tracks.

A face as timeless as hers gazed at her holy robes, shoulders stiff while a sigh escaped from his shaking head. His worrisome expression was stuck somewhere between fatherly and fearless.

“You ought to keep those garments proper at all times, you should know.” He raised a hand to his chin, contemplating his next words.

“The people know you as more than the Archbishop - know you as the Leader of all of Fódlan -, and I cannot keep you contained in these halls for forever.”

Another sigh. “So please, at least see to it that your robes are prim and proper at all times. And not soiled with rain or dirt and grime, Byleth.”

She gave a curt nod, then stared at the hem of her dress, white fabric offset by patches of grey and brown. Maybe she would never get used to wearing garments like this, as the memories of her mercenary days lingered in her even twenty years later.

“Of course, Seteth.” Her voice was kind, if monotone. “I will take more care next time.”

“Where were you, anyhow?” As she started to walk again he followed, careful to remain in step with her. “The anniversary is to be held in less than a week! We yet need to prepare your speech, and Flayn has been busy ordering decorations-”

She rolled her eyes almost unnoticeable. If it hadn't been for his knowledge of her persona over the course of many years, she could have fooled him. He simply huffed undignified upon noticing, though, so she kept on walking. “I was instructing the children in the village below. They deserve it as much as our students here.”

“That is all well and good, Byleth", Seteth tried, “yet your focus should be on the anniversary now. We are already waiting for the Almyrans – and you should be happy to know that the first merchants will set foot upon Garrag Mach later in the day – and much needs to be done before the King arrives.”

She wasn't a person for laughter, but this drew her to inhale sharply, almost as if she was trying to keep her composure. “Seteth you know Claude, he cares little about such things.”

Seteth cleared his throat, incredulous. “Why, traditions need to be upheld-”

“Of course. But that can wait until tomorrow, can it not?” The church was emptier than she had thought it would be, harbouring only a small group of people, and as she set foot in it her steps resounded through the hall. “I am tired today, and the evening is fast approaching.”

Blue skies swirled in the first drops of orange and red, casting a glimmer into the halls below through stained glass. For but a second she stared up at the beautiful architecture, before her walk towards the front of the church resumed. What little remained of visitors greeted her with nods, and she returned the favour. Off in the distance the choir was handing out sheets for the practice that was to be held in but a moment, and she matched her pace to Seteth's to lose less time.

“Ahh, the Archbishop arrived! It is a pleasure.” A woman, from the looks of it the organising talent of the bunch, put on a friendly smile. Her arms were yet full of slightly crumpled music sheets.

“Everything is ready for practice. We have used the last few days to compose a track list that combines Fódlan folklore songs with Almyran instruments. Of course, most of the songs will be well known by the people, to ensure that everyone gets to participate.”

“That sounds lovely", Byleth replied in a kind tone.

The organiser nodded, then snatched up a single paper that dared to flutter to the ground. “Ah, Seteth should know all the details. For now, we would like to hear your input regarding-"

“Lady Byleth.” The voice that resounded through the church was more a command than a question, yet the person behind it uttered it with the utmost respect. The click-clack of boots that followed was fast and hollow, and before long a dark skinned man with tousled locks and a youthful face stood before her.

“Cyril, what is the meaning of this?” Seteth gestured to the grime and sweat that clung to Cyril's clothes. Winced then, upon remembering the state the Archbishop was in was hardly any better.

Cyril simply ducked his head, but continued on with his report. “Noticed that some of the Almyrans have arrived early. Thought I'd let ya know, given the circumstances.”

Byleth’s expressions was stiff, when she answered. Most would have thought it a neutral face for the Archbishop, yet not everyone was fooled that easily, as evident by Seteth's scowl. “Who in particular?”

Her advisor seemed ready to rush out of the church. “If it is the King then he has awful timing. Flayn is yet waiting on the flowers imported from Fódlan's Throat – and I cannot have her meet this scoundrel and be smitten to commit schemes anymore!”

Cyril fidgeted nervously, reverting back to his old ways of the past. “Uhm...that is to say... I pointed him in your direction, since he seemed excited. Just, really happy.”

He sighed. “Then I remembered the choir practice, and rushed over.”

Cyril’s explanation did little to rid Byleth and Seteth of their worry, the latter of which was already frantically trying to explain to the choir members that the practice with the Archbishop had to be postponed until the coming day. Byleth, meanwhile, already motioned for Cyril to show her the way.

“I will welcome him. You instruct the choir for today.” With those words they left Seteth, and the church, behind.

She found out that she did not have to walk far at all the moment she laid eyes upon a white wyvern resting upon the large bridge outside, its red tassels blowing in the autumn wind. It raised its head and opened its maw in a greeting of the gruesome kind, mouth full of sharp teeth. The sound that pushed its way past its throat was a low rumble however, almost akin to a purr.

Byleth stepped close to it, near enough to be able to count scales, while Cyril seemed to study the beast intently. “Welcome, Barbarossa. You look great.”

She held out a hand in greeting. A sniff later the wyvern pushed its head against her open palm, tame as a young pup, though as feisty as a kitten. “I missed you too, old boy.”

Byleth looked around, then, struggling to find the owner of Barbarossa. Cyril simply shrugged his shoulders. “Didn't mention anything.”

The bridge was empty save for the draconic creature mimicking a pet. So they stood there, for a while, gazing at the sky with its freckles of orange and yellow. Her skin felt numb from the anxiety, the cold forgotten entirely, even when it nipped at her flesh like a long lost lover. She hadn't seen her’s, for a while. And now that he had arrived in everything but his presence she got cold feet.

Cyril rubbed his arms. “We might wait inside if you prefer, Lady Byleth.”

“It is fine”, came her curt reply. “Go and prepare a stable for Barbarossa, if you would be so kind. I handle everything else.”

“You got it!” He bowed lowly, an act that would seem disrespectful in the manner it was carried out if it weren’t for the conviction in his voice. Slowly, Cyril approached the Wyvern, taking hold of the reigns that were strapped around Barbarossa's head. For a man in his forties he still carried himself with the youthful aura of a child eager to please, and his age yet refused to show on his face. The authority with which he lead the wyvern away suggested him to be a capable man, though.

Byleth thanked him with a nod of her own, before walking alongside him until their paths diverged once they had hit the end of the bridge. A small wave and he and Barbarossa were gone, and she stood alone with but her thoughts for company.

Those revolved around golden robes and green eyes, and if she concentrated hard enough she could recall young smiles and braided hair. The memory was comfortable, and she found herself drifting back to the past quite often, where lions roared and eagles screeched among grazing deer.  
No matter now, she would attempt to tell herself. That was over twenty-five years ago.

“...thinking about anything in particular, friend?”, came a voice to her right, startling her. A last remnant of the past stood there before her, carrying himself with the pride and freedom that the King of Lions and Eagle Emperor had died for.

Claude von Riegan was a man in his best years, with combed back locks that could never be truly tamed, even when he let his hand run through them. Painted with more grey than she had anticipated, as if the colour was starting to peel off of him. Flecks of age dotted his hair and beard, yet his eyes seemed timeless as ever.

What had once been a braid that had changed into a long strand of wild hair now seemed to try to be a mix of both, a long lock adorned with pretty golden pearls, the braid tight and thin. His beard, too, had grown with the years, creeping up to his chin but no further than that.

Claude possessed an easy smile that hid the hard lines on his face, and his crow feet were born from laughter instead of worry. He had aged just fine, and yet too early for her to feel comfortable with it.

“No", came her late reply, and she stood still before him. “...I met Barbarossa already. You could have let us know of your arrival, you are aware?”

“Of course!” His grin seemed honest, if it weren't for the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I must have forgotten all about it in my excitement for the anniversary.”

Claude muddled the truth with flowing words, and she lacked the energy to fight it. So instead she greeted him, properly, with an invitation for a handshake – before he could deem it appropriate to attempt to hug her. He held onto her hand eagerly, eyes roaming over the ring that adorned her finger in the place where one meant for engaged women would sit.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he let his thumb run over her skin. “You still wear it.”

It was a statement made with an airy voice that yet carried the weight of the world on its shoulders, and she failed to produce the monotony she tried to channel with her whispered reply. “As do you.”

“Naturally, as my promise still stands.” He let his gaze wander from left to right, as if to make sure no one was there to hear his next words, despite the eager looks of curious people. Then, when he was sure he had the attention of the folk around him, he cleared his throat and announced, with great vigour: “Lady Byleth, it is a _pleasure_ to meet you again.”

He was grey hair and white smiles, and were she not used to his advances, she would turn red. So she turned instead, curt, no signs of courtship to be found on her features. The hand she had held hang forgotten, limp when it had been mid-squeeze, and Claude rubbed his temples to keep from wanting to rub circles over her skin.

She gave a light tug on the ring around her finger, before answering. “It is good to see you too, Claude. Pray tell me, why have you arrived early?”

“Nothing better than a quick pick me up before all the madness, if you catch my drift.” He was all teeth again, baring a smile holding schemes and sweetness.

As if to indulge in the warmth of a young flame, blazing afire each time she was close, he rushed over with quick strides, a game of carefully practiced movements that called back to the time he would come running to her after class. It was a light skip, enough to seem troublesome, but far removed from real trouble.

He knew it would irk her, no doubt, his grin an open force of nature then, and a smug "Teach, wait!" stuck to his lips that he yet dared to let out. The people, ever curious, took note before going about their way, or staring after them. Some lingered.

When he came to trot next to her it was a practiced pace, shoulders drifting close enough to touch, feet in step with one another. He hugged her form with his shadow, as it grew ever bigger in the cold evening sun. Yet touching he did not dare, and to keep himself grounded to lofty ambitions instead of inhibitions he rotated the ring that would forever bind them on his finger.

Theirs was a haunted walk, for those with eyes and those with ears crept shadow-esque between the cracks, eager to catch a whisper. Byleth forced a well practiced smile upon her lips, then, all show without tell. Keeping up appearances had always been easy, when the King of Almyra wasn't involved.

“I heard he received another marriage proposal, from Brigid”, one hushed.

“But hasn't he been engaged for years now?” Another murmured slowly.

A third one barked out loud. “I remember how he was as a student. The Archbishop, too. Theirs was a strong bond, I tell ya.”

A fourth one looked after them. “Did the Archbishop ever forge a relationship of her own?”

“Careful”, came the answer, “I'm pretty sure asking that is a sin.”

In-between steps, she paused to turn. Garrag Mach welcomed the orange tinged sky with an ounce of elegance, and the melancholy that wafted through the air smelled sugary. Resuming her walk she offered a brisk pace that had her come ever close to roses and resting places. Claude followed silently, and before long they stood in front of a well loved grave, for time had hugged it so long the letters began to fade.

Here, silence triumphed, and even those curious enough to attract Byleth's scorn would not dare risk bothering her in front of Jeralt's and her Mother's grave. She had seen too many such graves in her life.

“After the anniversary I will visit Faerghus. Embarr lays behind me, already.” She sighed softly. “This year was busy, I could not find the time before now.”

It remained left unsaid that she referred to the dead relationships that she clung to as much as the living one that held her freedom hostage. Claude stared solemnly at the ring on his finger, before his gaze travelled to the old stone in front of them.

“I understand.” It felt weightless, his answer. Like a feather that fell to the ground without making a sound, for his words failed to reach her. “I was...busy...as well.”

That he had sent her countless letters which could only vaguely be filed under ‘political interest' was a fact he did not bring up. Instead he simply let her indulge in whichever healing process she needed. He had not been one for many words of comfort, always striving for the future - higher, further than before. What he could grant her, however, was an ear to listen. Throughout the years it had become fine-tuned to her woes.

Woes that manifested through almost silent sighs and downcast expressions, rarely through tears. She laid a hand upon the gravestone, caring little for her dirtied clothes, and he knew better than to mention her state of dress to her when she had bandaged his wounds countless times in the past.

Byleth turned to look at him after, expression just a shade away from kind. “...would you care for a cup of-"

“Tea?” He laughed. “I brought some with me. Special Almyran brand, just for you.”

“How did you-"

A chuckle, then he let his stiff posture relax underneath her intense gaze. “We always drink one when I visit, friend.”

She ducked her head in shame. When had that been? She barely remembered how many grey hairs he had grown since then. His voice was honest, and she cared for little else aside from that. So she nodded, even going as far as to rid herself of her unreadable expression in exchange for the smallest hint of a smile.

Drinking tea had always been easier for her, and she missed the moments of indulgence that she saved for times such as this, special blends and special places just for him. It was the simple shared solitude that made her feel secure, the aromatic sensations of calming herbs. During tea time, they could be less than lovers and more than allies, and she would not trade it for the world.

“Let us drink it on the third floor, then. I would like to watch the stars, if that is alright with you.” The roof garden near the Archbishop quarters seemed like the perfect spot, away from prying eyes. Byleth glanced towards the gravestone for one last time, before handing Claude her undivided attention.

Claude grinned. “Lead the way, then.”

The way, as it turned out, was littered with questions by the common folk who just had to ask the King of Almyra about his journey to Garrag Mach, luring out stories said by a golden tongue that knew how to spin tales. Even during the evening hours his arrival had quickly made the rounds, and so it wasn't before the sky had changed from orange to blue that the two of them found safety in the comfort on the floor saved for the Archbishop quarters which only had a knight or two stationed on it for protection.

Byleth had explained to him where Barbarossa had been led to on their way up the stairs, right after they had handed over the tea to the dining hall staff, who seemed overly eager to make a fine blend even when it was way past their opening hours. Supposedly, this was just a benefit that came with wearing ornamental headpieces and playing peacemaker.

Now they sat between two manmade ponds on a rooftop overlooked by the stars themselves, with a kettle and teacups in front of them. Lighting some torches had been easy, and the light that they illuminated cast a warm glow onto skin.

Byleth felt half content, even with her less than desirable state of dress and Claude's tired gaze, because sitting there was simple when so many things dared to be complicated. Simplicity was a virtue few seemed to treasure, even more so in peaceful lands.

“How do you like the tea?” He took a sip from his own cup, a rich aroma of carefully prepared spices that invigorated the drinker. It was almyran from root to leaf, and reminded him of loud feasts instead of starry-skied evenings. Then again, he seemed ill fitted for such calm moments too, from an outsider's perspective.

Byleth hummed softly. “I never had this before, it tastes interesting.”

“The spices used are more aromatic than Fódlan ones, they seem useful to energise the mind and body.” He drank some more, before continuing. “Not the best choice before sleep, but an amazing one if you want to talk until the early morning.”

“There is a lot to catch up on, is there not?” Her hands were warm now, even when the rest of her fought against the chilling air. That was enough to root her to her spot.

“Plenty.” Claude reached for the pitcher filled with milk, and let the white liquid flow into his cup with curiosity. “First thing's first: How come you _still_ can't handle a dress?”

At this, she let her mouth cross into a thin line. “It is too long, and too white, and not made for me.”

Upon hearing his chuckle she furiously raised her teacup to her lips, drinking to hide the happiness that dared to sneak onto her face. She was sure he noticed, anyhow, and steered the conversation to less embarrassing topics.

“How have you fared this year, Claude? I recall you mentioning in one of your letters that-”

“So you read them?” He let one arm hit the table and reached as far over as the space between them would allow, gaze intense. She winced at the sound the cutlery made. “I didn't dare hope anymore!”

His hand wrapped over hers, quicker than she could hope to react in order to tuck it close to her body. She feared he would destroy the atmosphere with idle chit-chat of missed romantic opportunities, but he simply squeezed once, let his hand linger and grinned. “Thank you, friend. I’ve been well. _You_ would do well to return one of your own, however. Unless the _Archbishop_ lacks time for such _utter nonsense_.”

Taken aback, she looked doe-like ahead, right into his vivid green eyes. It must have been pure coincidence that he was holding her ringed hand hostage. “I will...try.”

And just like that he drew back, all prim and proper, and continued to drink as though nothing had happened. His moves where practiced and flowed with ease, let him handle tea and cup like a true noble, when his expression was yet everything but. Claude hummed contentedly, in such a way a songbird would before daring to fly away, and she wasn't quite sure where he aimed to reach.

He motioned to the sky, then, and made a hand gesture as though he could catch a star. “I haven't had much opportunity to look at them. But they're almost as radiant as you, wouldn't you say?”

Her breath caught in her throat, along with honey-brown liquid, and it made her choke. A coughing fit later, when she had calmed down somewhat and made sure that the worry was erased from his features, was when she answered. “I would not call myself radiant, Claude.”

“Most think otherwise.” A grin, a wink, and her stomach felt aflutter. She stomped the feathers down, lest they take flight. “I happen to be one of them.”

Setting her teacup down, she still held onto it with all her might. It grounded her, as she gave her attention to the stars, unable to look Claude in the eyes. “Did you achieve those pipe dreams of yours, Claude?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just wonder", she began, and rose from her seat. It cost little time to move from the shared table to the edges of the rooftop. She felt stone underneath her fingers, and let the cold bite through the warmth in her flesh.

Claude followed quickly, eager to linger closer at her side, and though a part of her felt guilt, she let him. Dared to let him close enough to feel his warmth in exchange, as though he could warm up all the dread inside of her. “Your pipe dreams, and mine, they were build on bloodshed no matter what.”

His chuckle, in reply, felt heavy - and old. “There's no need to blame yourself.”

“I do not...I believe.” When he grabbed her hand this time, she moved in tact with him, drawing her own skin ever closer to his, until their fingers were intertwined. “But I regret.”

“There's no need to regret this, though.” He raised their hands, brought them close to himself, planted a kiss on top of hers. “Look, I'm sorry that I'm not a picture perfect person.”

Claude searched for her gaze and held it with the intensity of a man holding on for dear life near a cliff. She could let him fall, always, and look away from the impact, if she so chose. “And that this – whatever this is – kinda, sorta happened in-between everything else.”

He drew nearer, then, near enough to drown out the stars with his presence. When he pressed against her in an embrace that was as warm as the breath tickling her ear, she almost forgot how he had let go of her hand to hold onto her hair instead. “But no matter the past, I am here, now.”

Claude let his forehead touch hers, searching for something in her gaze that she herself wasn't quite sure how to name. But he seemed to find it, somehow, and welcomed a smug smile onto his lips. “And if you want me, then I'll stay.”

The answer was so difficult, and yet she found herself breathing “Yes.” before her conscience had a chance to catch up. The effect this had was instant, and tasted like almyran spices and herbs. His body was warm, extinguished the cold as though it came second nature to him.

Claude moved with experience, mouth giving longwinded kisses while one hand held onto her hair as the other rubbed circles along her hip. He let it slide upward, then back down, left little room for argument while he explored and tested for reactions, alternating the way he held her just to angle himself differently and feel even more of her body on his own. Claude worked on her like he would a battlefield, deploying tactics that were hardly fair. Each weakness she possessed he would find eventually, would push and pull just right enough to steer the direction towards her bedchamber.

He already had her stepping back slowly, moved forward eagerly and let her set the pace only if she continued moving. “Not here, I – we still have some distance to cross.”

Each touch was playful, if starved, each kiss a bit too eager and too hard to seem loving instead of desperate. When he laid his lips to her neck it was without an ounce of patience, and he remained blissfully unaware of the storm that clouded her thoughts. It made her drift forward in his current, through stone cold hallways kept alive by the memories of countless lifetimes. He wasn't one to linger, not one to push her against an archway and stay there, when the distance to her quarters seemed yet so great. But he paused to breathe in her scent, to clutch at her just a bit stronger, to wonder for just a moment how long he could drag this out. Byleth stood with him then, senses just alive enough to make her fear the presence of others. She moved to pry herself away from him, to convince herself to end this now, when the option could still let her save face.

But his mouth on hers was firm, giving way to tactical movement with the aim to draw a moan. Claude kissed like a man strategizing for combat, each move and turn carefully planned. The protest died on her lips, faster than it had arrived. He tasted of everything that ambition had touched, and none of the blood that had been shed for those dreams. Yet the hands that were grasping locks of her light touched hair were calloused all the same, could be held responsible for horrors equally as much as her pleasure.

Byleth still had half the mind to stop him, and brought her own fingers to his neck, pressing in just hard enough to make his breath catch in his throat. The grip on her hair only worsened in response, mouth hard on hers, his body eager to creep closer, while she let arms try to fight for the distance that her false heart was not prepared for.  
It took all her strength to pull her mouth from his.

“Stop, Claude.” Her voice was a hissed whisper. “Would you have us found by a knight?!”

He let the fingers of his ring-bearing hand slide to her cheek, ghosting over it. “You don't seem to mind, truly.”

“But I do.” Her huff was interrupted by an involuntary shiver, something that stirred her from her statue-esque form. So she stepped away from him, mouth pressed into a hard line. “I care more than you think.”

He let his lip protrude forward in a pout, head downcast, eyes ablaze with lust to betray the sheepish gaze he sent her. “No one has to find out.”

His body crept closer still, until he was right in front of her once more, and when he looked down it was with that same expression that could bring her knees down in shame. The voice he talked with was soft, offset only by his hard breathing. “I had the knights promise me to stay outside, so we could discuss _political intrigue_.”

Then he was on her once more, mouth near her ear, body stiff with need. “So _please_.”

The way he cradled her hand in his was careful when the rest of his movements was anything but, and she bit her lip to keep from denying him, her own body betraying what little resolve she had left. So she let him guide her the rest of the way, let him steal quick kisses wherever he could before they reached the Archbishop's quarters. Her quarters, so decidedly dead and unlike her whenever he wasn't there to fill it with life.  
And he'd gasp and compliment the interior before complimenting her each time he set foot in it, and this time was no different.

“Lovely view", he teased in-between heavy breaths and deep kisses, “lovelier with you in it.”

Byleth let her eyes flutter closed, and felt him smile against her skin. His beard tickled, but then it always had, and his tousled locks still felt the same under her grip. It was easy to imagine him much younger and she did, was reminded of the times his stray strand of hair had dared to interrupt them.

He yet tasted like victory and far away lands, and when he pushed her against the edge of the bed she felt her stomach do somersaults like all those summers ago. The mattress hit her with distant memories, and her hand began to linger where her touch was most dangerous. When his breath got caught he sounded young, and the eagerness with which he drew closer seemed born years ago. She felt his weight when the rest of her seemed weightless, let her hands lead the conversation when her mouth was otherwise occupied, busy with talking some sense into his neck and collarbone.

Claude was everything in-between suave and shy, a carefully constructed dance of letting his wish for more be veiled in an aura of sheepishness, and so it was a mischievous look in his eyes that gave him away when he whispered to her, one she chose to ignore to indulge in ignorance.

“May I...?” He tugged on her robes, then, let his tongue click when it wasn't otherwise occupied to remind her of her state of dress.  
She moaned a breathy yes, and he couldn't help himself from joking. “Not that I can ruin those garments more than they've been ruined already, heh.”

This earned him a playful smack against his shoulder, or at least an attempt of such, because he caught the hand and pressed a kiss upon it that seemed more charming than it had any right to be. “Help me with mine?”

She opened her eyes then, and looked into his and all the feelings they conveyed. The lopsided grin made her swoon just a bit, and she brought her hands to the hem of his pants, fidgeting a finger inside, then two. She tugged on them just a little, to judge the excitement that built on his features.  
But Claude was a patient man when he needed to be. “You first.”

His hands brushed against her robes, fingertips all the more eager to disrobe her, starting from the ornamental headpiece that she wore and moving on to her dress after.  
She thought of him as a one man army, disrobing people within the blink of an eye, and his wink had always given her pause when her pulse refused to listen. The one he sent her was a sickly sweet kind, as it lulled her into a false sense of security, only for him to move within the beat of a heart she did not possess.

And then she lay bare safe for her undergarments, the dress ripped clean off, the sound of tearing so vivid in her mind that she winced at the thought of Seteth's scorn were he to ever find out. “I'll have to burn that...”

“We'll tell him it caught on fire, and I rescued you like the hero I am.” Claude chuckled, even as his eyes were focused elsewhere, knowing fully well who she meant.

“But the entire dress burned?” She raised an eyebrow at him, even as she grabbed a hold of his own clothes once more. This time she started with his top, though, unbuckled clasps that held his armour pieces in place.

Claude helped her where he could, shrugged off his cloak the moment it was possible. “Naturally, we had to give it a proper funeral.”

She worked on his shirt next, took off the cravat before helping him out of his garment fully. Had he worn his gloves today she would have left them on for a while longer, but he did not, and she wondered whether it was to show off the ring or not. She could always see it, when he visited.

But he was eager and planted more kisses on her, moved from her cheek to her exposed shoulders, silencing the quick questions of her mind. Then he took her hands once more and steered them to his pants, and she pulled them downwards in-between more of his touches, until he shuddered and clung to her, and began to breathe harder the moment her touch lingered.

He helped her get them and his undergarments off completely, unable to fully part from her lips even when it made his movements awkward, and after he was on her again like he could never lay with her after that night.

It was when she stared at his entire naked self that the dread creeped back in, ever slowly. Because he looked less old than he should, and yet too old compared to herself. Welcoming him with open arms was a challenge, but she tried to put herself at ease by planting kisses all over him, knowing it would hardly silence the anxiety in her completely.

“I would have made you Queen of Almyra, eventually”, he whispered against her collarbone, sensing her discomfort. Part of her could have indulged in that fantasy, even then, but whenever she raised her eyes to wrinkled folds born from laughing she would count his crow feet like the years that passed.

They had grown deeper, recently. Had carved a river into his smiles and the wet noises that she could draw from his throat were well wrought waters now. While she could yet sink to the bottom of bliss in them, there was that stone cold weight in the pits of her stomach which screamed like a drowning dragon. She wondered, woefully, when their fire would finally be extinguished. Then lapped at his skin like flames, the wish to burn so very bright in her body.

Claude sighed, softly, like in his younger years. “I would have...”

Shuddered, then, stirred like a statue in her arms. Always eager to hold her closer and closer yet, as though they were indulging in but a pipe dream. There rested a hint of desperation on his shoulders, one that made his heart heavy, and a different one that drew his mouth near hers. If he wanted to control himself, he had to make this last. But desperation was a beast, bearing wounds so worrisome they made blood boil, so weary they made white hot hunger manifest.

He would indulge it like a feast, lingered on lips so plump and ripe they could function as a full course meal - and began to wonder when the time would come that someone else would capture them as theirs. A future without him that had others grace her lips with silent promises and loud presents.

He would not show such worries to her, however. Instead he laid down next to her, then pulled her on top of him, his movements careful even when his desire was anything but. When she sat on his legs he kissed her ring finger once more. “Take everything off but this, okay?”

When she hesitated for a moment, he pressed her hand next to his heart. “I’m not going to keel over dead, Byleth.”

She nodded, and sat upright to fully expose herself. First came the corset they had her wear, and he reached around her to untangle the mess of strings and bows. He let her take off the rest on her own, laid back in mock-carelessness with his arms behind his head.

“Pretty...”, was what he muttered when she was done, eyes roaming over her body, grin wide and toothy. “I do feel _enlightened_ now, _Archbishop_.”

His mouth could run a mile a minute, and she appreciated it for drowning out the words her own brain spit at her. Claude still muttered sweet nothings that hardly made sense, just to ease her into moving. When she was ready she crept closer, let her hand wander as she rubbed circles with the other over his chest. He did the same, squeezed and pulled her closer, bit softly into skin just to hear her squeak.

It was a delightful tone, and the low rumbling in his throat that ought to be a hum made her smile just a bit. Handling him had become a practiced play over the years, and when she grabbed him it was with the expertise of someone who had more experience on the battlefield but tried hard to be soft.

The sounds that she could drag to the surface left her shuddering, made her wish for more of him, something louder, greater, just to stop whatever silence liked to take root in her head when he wasn't there.

“You...”, he breathed, “...should have some f-fun too.” The expression he gifted her was of the loving kind, muttered between a stifled moan, and he reached out for her between heavy breaths.

His touch was somewhere between despair and desperation it felt like, full of rubbing and tugging and everything that she liked to the point it made her squirm.

She could count the drops of sweat hugging his face, even through the rocking motion they had found themselves in, and followed one with her gaze as it travelled from his brows to his cheek, to the corner of his lips.

It was when she kissed him that he entered her, slowly enough for it to barely hurt, and she breathed in deeply to keep from making any more noise. It took her time to find a steady rhythm, as the both of them started out of sync, and it took a low chuckle or two from Claude for her to feel comfortable enough to take the lead.

When she did, and finally found that sweet spot, she could drift into moments of bliss again. Could close her eyes and think of all the best times, all the battle scars they had explored together, all the wounds that needed to heal but did with him at her side, both the physical and emotional ones.

And the pace now was slow, and loving, like they had all the time that the world dared to grant them. He sighed, more than once, paid her compliments that would be forgotten even though she never wanted them to be.

Some words rang clear though, even within all the hazy pleasure. “I love you.”

And she dared to mouth them against his skin in return, but never spoke them aloud.

She did not last much longer than that, urged him on to be quicker, steadied herself on his shoulders while his hands cupped her breasts and his eyes were shut in pleasurable concentration. He tried to let her linger near the edge, but felt too desperate to keep her there for long, and so she tried her best to keep a momentum even as her whole body took away her authority over herself.

When she begged it was for him to come, when all he wanted was to never leave. Release came sweet, but poisonous. Drew his body like a taut string only to let it snap without breaking. Yet he felt broken, somewhere between the eager schemes and easy smiles. Shattered, even, so he pulled her close as though she was all his missing pieces. That way, she could not see his expression. He held her there, to his chest, as the ecstasy faded away. Until she nestled near the spot where his heart was hidden, and began to listen to his heavy heartbeat.

Hers was a static kind, so he felt for her hand, grabbed it to cradle it for the pulse that it provided. It offered peace in-between heaving breaths, and his touch was forceful but fickle, desperate in its attempt not to let her go and equally as desperate to not force his will upon her.

Still, he felt his fingertips brush against a ring he knew all too well, and let the corners of his lips rise as he brought her hand to them.

"Wouldn't you know it. I am bedding a married woman", he murmured before giving the ring a quick peck.

"What a lucky fella I am, huh?" He squeezed her to him with his free arm. "Could you imagine the scandal?"

"But we never-", she countered, though as soon as she let her head rise he silenced her with but a finger.

It lingered on her lips, even as she gave him a look of protest. The chuckle that rose from his throat was youthful, a stark contrast to the flecks of grey that hid within his hair. "Shhh. Who'd wanna wage emotional warfare at a time like this?"

A huff from her, then he let her go, only to cup her cheek. His touch was tactical, for he had learned throughout his best years how to handle her. Perhaps it had all dulled down to simple guerrilla tactics of the loving kind, and he would wrap her around his little finger as repentance for all the years that fell with his ambitions.

Those, she would never get back. And though she had stood behind his dreams with the patience of a saint, for she had been one, there came the turning point when he had shifted his schemes like board pieces, and suddenly she had been a priority instead of an afterthought.

He had explained those plans of his to her, once. Of marriage, the kind to ultimately unite Fodlan and Almyra with the opposite of hatred. Spoke of grandiose moves to bring peace to her heart, when before it had all been about peace for the world's sake and, intrinsically, for the peace of his own mind.

But he belonged _everywhere_, in that new world of theirs. And never quite to her, she felt like, even when he would steal himself away from royal duties to gaze together with her at the endless depth of countless stars.  
Sometimes, she wished they could shatter Gods.

Yet whenever she did a voice would yap in the back of her head "You fool! This is bigger than you!" and the thoughts would cease again.

Byleth let herself lay at his side for a moment longer, took in his scent and all the heartbreak, and whispered an apology against his chest. “I apologise, Claude. This was...wrong.”

_She cursed it, that gift of the goddess which she had been granted. It took him away from her, each day a bit more than the last._

_And she thanked it, for reversing time so quickly she never heard his response._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know how long this fanfiction will be, but I hope you appreciate the ride! This was, by the way, my first ever written explicit sex scene, so I hope it read alright. See you in the next update! =)


	2. Spill the Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which night passes, and Byleth curses her existence.

Using the divine power bestowed upon her felt easy. Within the blink of an eye she stared into his eager expression again, face alight with the love of a much younger man, as though he hadn't aged at all. All the desperation was gone, still hidden away under careful facades.

“And if you want me, then I'll stay.”

Claude was bare honesty and clothed skin, close to her skin to bear her burdens with intimacy. Perhaps to forget, if only for a night.

Yet this time, she turned away, and untangled herself from his grip. Only the cold remained to nibble at her exposed flesh. Part of her wished that the coldness would not corrupt her expression as easily as it did. She missed his touch immediately, hugged her own arms around herself, surprised to find fabric where none had been before.

Byleth sighed, a long, drawn out sound. She half hated how cool her words seemed, almost as chilling as the wind. “I wonder if there are ever things in life that you regret. That you would change, if you could. Would you?”

The confusion that had taken hold of his features where her lips could have been formed into a grimace, something that was so awfully in tact with his otherwise tactical posture that she wished it to be as fake as most of his people-gifted smiles. Claude thought back on his past, stuck on the ring that dared to feel like a part of his being.

They had exchanged vows in secret, so that history might not catch their scent. But it bit them, hard, and ripped into feelings. Claude wondered when she had become eager to distance herself from him, because she was all hard edges and cold expressions save for the heat in her eyes. Wore an emotionless mask like a second skin, which reminded him of her starting days as a professor.

Back then, it had caught his interest for the sheer mystery she provided. He had seldom met a person like that, someone to prod and unravel because she had never fully seemed _human_, truly. Before he fully knew her and her humanity. This time it simply gave him pause and wounded his pride. The contrast between her wild gaze and tamed body language made him fidget, and he turned to overplay it with mock confidence.

So he raised his arms up behind him, a seemingly relaxed gesture, and put on his best smug grin. He analysed, in the back of his mind, when he had become so willingly ignorant to reading the hints of emotions in her eyes.

“Sheesh, you wound me, oh Enlightened One. Have I aged _that_ poorly?”

“It’s not that...”, she started, yet found no way to continue. He raised an eyebrow at her tone, urged her forward to say more with his gaze, even as the rest of him remained distant. The answer he was waiting on refused to come, however.

Byleth let her head fall, caution forgotten and shoulders left to sag down, when normally the way with which she carried herself seemed to expect danger around every corner. She seemed less like herself, he figured, with the mercenary in her falling apart in front of him.

It made him laugh half heartedly. She began to remind him of a shot deer, the arrows sticking out of every crack in her soul. Claude found himself wishing to put her down equally as much as he wanted to nurse her back to health. After all, she still felt comfortable enough to break down in front of him, no matter how light on emotions such a breakdown was for her.

He did not give her an answer to her question, but moved to put a hand on her shoulder. It seemed to push her into the ground, but she shivered and raised her head.

There were teeth tugging at her lips and his gaze wandered with the motion. Byleth refused to look into his eyes, and it took most of his willpower to keep his grip locked to her shoulder.

“Well", he started, voice thick, heavy with the passion he wouldn't let out, “given that you are already shivering _from the cold_, I'd deeply _regret_ it if you got sick so shortly before the anniversary.”

She sucked in a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding, attention on the hand near her shoulder that had travelled ever so slowly towards her collar, then touched her neck. Most would deem the gesture improper, daring. But then he had always been pushing boundaries where he could. “What are you doing, Claude?”

He coughed once, freed himself from lingering on her lips, opted to steer her around without much force instead, careful to lead his hand back to her shoulder. “Leading you to your room, friend. It is late, and the world needs you rested tomorrow.”

A _“But I need you now.”_ died unspoken. Claude thought it kinder to send a smirk her way, however false it may have looked. “Go get your beauty sleep, princess.”

She simply stared, so he showed more teeth. “Or would ‘Your Majesty’ be the correct term? Archbishop? _Teach_?”

He squeezed once, ignored the whispered squeal it tickled out of her, and the images it produced in his head. Byleth felt thrown back to her alternate reality, the one she had ended abruptly. One that suffered from less than the cold, if only that. If she concentrated hard enough she could almost hear the Goddess sigh in discontent, and she recalled the sound of her voice while wincing.

_“You play God when you do that, fool”_, Sothis would say. Or “_My powers aren't yours to toy with, I shall have you know!”_ Maybe even _“He deserves better than that, do you not think that as well?”_

Claude cleared his throat to clear her thoughts. “So...any plans to move, Byleth? Or do I have to carry you bridal-style?”

With half the mind to speak more, he pushed her forward. It was a different kind of walk, no weight to it that pulled her down an abyss she could drown in. Their path simply felt hollow, like a cave, when she moved. Byleth listened to her steps echoing off the walls and missed the sound of kisses, of flustered breaths and hot air. Here, only the torches provided an illusion of warmth, save for the imprint of his hand that steadily held her at a distance.

She turned to move her head once, only to be greeted with a smile that had no right to be so offending in its behaviour. Claude had mastered mockery better than any monk that dared to judge her. She counted the shadows that danced across his features and lingered under his eyes, gaze hazy and tired. The midnight light was anything but kind to the King of Almyra, and painted him ghostly, as though he did not belong in such halls.

His voice yet seemed alive, though, and the breath that tickled her neck made her think of poison-dipped blades. “Careful, _friend_, I might just fall for you if you keep looking at me like that.”

It stung worse than a wound, she noticed. Could feel the hurt underneath leak out even when his grip was yet soft. She had never been good at analysing emotions, but his pain was a battle she had wished upon herself, and fights where a thing she excelled at. Hearing the rejection in his voice was a terrible victory to claim.

But one she needed to sleep soundlessly that night. So, like a good saint, she carried on through holy halls, ever aware of the stones that she needed to swallow for the sake of the rest of the world. A world that, if she thought back to simpler times, hardly regarded her as more than a fable come alive. A hero, a history. Byleth had felt more human without emotions, back when crying had been an experience she only saw on other faces.

It was when she had reached her quarters that she next turned to look at her companion, and the way he let his hand glide off of her shoulders made her shiver involuntarily once more. The wall seemed like a better choice to steady her however, and so it was stone that her hand came into contact with instead of skin.

Her mouth was trying to taste all sorts of words, before she settled on a sentence that said nothing at all. “Thank you for the tea.”

Smiles were easy to come by, from him. He gave them out like candy, and yet so many of them were schemes alone, sweet treats that turned out to be onions coated in sugar. This was one of them. “It was my pleasure.”

Like a practiced motion, no crack was to be seen. Claude knew his body well, could let every muscle dance to a fool's song. “Well, I'll swing by tomorrow for whatever gossip the nobles are infatuated with nowadays. Make sure to keep a seat free for me, ya hear me?”

Byleth gave a curt nod in return, grateful for the easy out he provided her. “Of course. Tomorrow, we will discuss the hunting event that is to be held the day after.”

“Lorenz and Hilda should arrive in the morning, they would be happy to see you.” She let her arms cross to stop herself from fidgeting.

The smirk that Claude gave her in return to that message seemed almost real, though it did not reach his eyes. “Lorenz, huh. Can't imagine he'd be anything but delighted to see me.”

“It's been a few...years, Claude. He does care, and said to me that your letters ‘simply do not cut it for a noble of his standard'.” She attempted, badly, to channel the aura in which one had to imitate Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. It was a chance to not be herself for a moment however, and so she welcomed the switch of topics.

Her imitation was enough to draw a chuckle from Claude, at any rate. Genuine, this time, she could tell by the way his crow feet became more prominent. “That is worse than my Marianne impression, Byleth.”

“Perhaps.” The way in which she carried herself seemed to ease into a posture of carefully bred comfort. “At any rate, it is late. There should be a room ready for you to occupy. One of the knights waiting outside can lead you to it.”

It crumbled, the moment Claude let his patience snap around her neck like a trap with only words for barbs. “It is late. How curious that you never questioned the missing of your guardsmen, however. I never knew you to be so scatter-brained.”

He drew a bit closer, one foot in front of the other, a carefree tip-toing action that made her want to recoil. Still, his feet stopped further away from her than she anticipated, and yet she still felt time press into her lungs. The soft brushing of air in her body had her inhale sharply, and she froze in her spot in fear. He could not know of her power because for all that they had shared, she had never told him this.

Maybe that genius side of him had figured it out all on his own. Maybe he was simply a man dealing with a rejection that should have come twenty years prior. Maybe both. “A goodnight to you, friend. I never mentioned holding your knights hostage, for what it's worth.”

Claude drew nearer to her still, up until her vision was filled with the troubling green of his eyes. He studied her, so obvious in his plan to analyse that she almost missed the affection which crept into the edges of his hold on her. For he had taken a hold of her hip, let his thumb brush circles into her form. Maybe he could mold the truth into her, if he tried hard enough. For the time being it was only his expression that seemed to be etched into shapes he did not know how to name. And she was too world-blind to count all the feelings that they hoped to convey.

_“We could still be great together.”_ A kiss to her forehead, and he stepped away. _“Don't you forget that.”_

He left without another word, then. And it was a quiet goodbye, in the end, which she gave him. Not more than a mere blush that coated her cheeks, visible even in the dim light that surrounded them. The grandeur with which he seemed to carry himself was given up for raw honesty, yet she knew it would wrap around himself again the moment the public had him back in its hands. It never seemed to let him go, entirely, unless he was with her and her alone.

But the world had him back.

And she crawled into her sheets like she could hide from it if she so willed it. Pitiful, to be god-touched and half-immortal, but never quite human enough to be forgettable for the universe. She fell asleep with thoughts about freedom, and the dread that she had always belonged to someone else's cause.

~☆~

Dawn arrived, ever slowly. Let light streaks creep across her back where hands should have held her. The morning was a gentle lover, one that kissed her awake with a tickling sensation. Yet she yearned for the desperation of a distance, and the dawn could have her every day. No awakening of Fódlan could compare to almyran nights, to dark hair and evergreen irises. This morning was blue, and swallowed gold too quickly for her liking.

But she rose nevertheless, wearing robes of yesterday and clutching the feelings of the night before close to her still heart. It was a reminder that was hardly gentle, yet at least it made her wish for a heartbeat.

Time, as Byleth noted, hated her as much as it loved her. The youth that kept her skin pristine was yet the one that made others claim their rightful part of her day. As if her seconds belonged to everyone, just never her. So she simply sighed when the maids came, mouths entangled in eager chatter, too bright and too young for her liking.

They were believers - believed in _her_ \- but all she saw were much too naive gazes, and looks that lingered on her forbidden fruit as if almyran blood had ever been tempted by porcelain skin. Young things like them talked about him while wishing her a good, no a great, morning. Told her to rise with the birds, and a sparrow somewhere dared to indulge them with its song.

Byleth wished for wyvern roars as the two maids shook their heads at her state of dress. “They need to give you a day off, Archbishop. We cannot have you falling asleep in- is that dirt on your robes?”

“Ah, it did rain yesterday, did it not? Maybe a carriage into the village will help you next time.”

She was about to retort that she could walk just fine, that it was one of the few pleasantries her life granted her, but they had already moved on to more indulging topics. “I heard you met King von Riegan yesterday.”

The second maid, much more energetic than the first, began to undress her with ease. “Ohh, I got a good look at him! Can you _believe_ he is already in his forties? He's what I'd call a dreamboat.”

She reminded Byleth of a much younger Hilda, obnoxious and gossipy. More of a hard worker however, and far more dainty.

“Ah, uhm, the Archbishop has known him for a long time...” Her second maid could bring Marianne to shame, the voice even more meek in comparison.

Being undressed by her maids was a ritual she might never get used to. Clothes were a part of her life she had never seen as anything more than a necessity, and too much cloth had always made it difficult to walk in. She preferred the indulging femininity of tights instead of skirts. Besides, all her garments always came off easier when she was with Claude. Nakedness was a raw decision with him, and had never made her feel as exposed as standing in front of others to be appraised for the day to come.

He would study her with the curiosity of a man that couldn't quite keep his hands away, eyes twinkling with mirth, and the glint of easy schemes resting on his face. Here, she was simply a doll prepared to wear garments to parade around town as if clothes made people whole.

“True. Our Majesty here must know all his secrets. If you would indulge a couple curious girls, I could make sure to bind your corset more loosely for, say, one week?”

Byleth searched for hints of glistening blades ready to backstab her, but found no answer aside from a head cocked to the side in curiosity.

Her words were far more dangerous than she let on, so bloodthirsty in nature that Byleth could rip her apart for it. “Or are the rumours true, and both of you prefer to remain..._discrete_?”

The smile on the woman's lips was certain enough that she knew better than to challenge her maid's words with actions, however. It would only stoke the flames, and she had always been an ashen demon. “Politics require discretion, yes.”

In return to her answer her corset was bound tightly around her waist, accentuating curves more prominently than the rulebook would advise. It hurt to breathe, a little, but a corset was no curse, and there were poisons much worse that she had experienced in her lifetime. So she remained stoic, even as the other maid hurriedly tried to shush her companion while making the bed.

“Ah, the Lady Archbishop must have a lot on her mind. You should drop it, I think...”

“Aww, but it was just starting to become fun!”

Having finished preparing the bed, the maid hurried over to her windows. The air that she let in by opening them was fresh, and smelled of old rain and new clouds. At least it hurried the process of getting dressed along, for her maids, no matter their naiveté, yet concerned themselves with her health. The most important woman in Fódlan could not, would not become sick before the festivities were finished.

That was an unwritten law.

“Anyhow, you are almost-", one last tuck on her corset made her wince, “done.”

Her gown for the day followed soon after, somewhere stuck between reminding her of Rhea and letting Byleth be her own caricature of a person. The headpiece finished off the look, and she felt fully clothed and desperately naked all at once. It would have to do, no matter the colour, no matter the length, no matter her own preferences.

“Thank you.”

She did not mean it, but it was all she meant to say. Words came easy to her when they lacked the intricacy of emotions, and muttering a meaningless sentence was a small price to pay to make her day move along just that bit faster.

The two maids could not have finished the preparations sooner – she had fought tooth and nail to have no make-up smeared onto her face – for a graceful knock on her door signalled the arrival of her steady advisor.

They excused themselves quickly after, though not before the louder one of the two had asked shamelessly to be told a detail or two as to which women the King of Almyra preferred. That had been a line too many that she crossed, too much at once. It enraged her in a way she couldn't quite place. But Byleth had said nothing at all, went straight to the door to regard Seteth with a frown that could rival the hard lines of centuries of life experience that were etched into his face.

“A...good morning to you as well, Lady Byleth.”

“A new maid. By the evening", was her reply. It lacked the bite she wanted to give it, but her words were sharp all the same.

Seteth raised an eyebrow in question, before letting his gaze trail after the two women that had already stepped outside of the room and down the 3rd floor hallway. “I hope there were not any problems of a personal nature?”

“Quite personal. Hilda gets to make these remarks, but not a maid aspiring to be like her.” Her mouth was drawn into a thin line, before she went on. “So see to it that I will not have to see her anymore.”

Seteth stepped fully into the room then, before replying, careful to consider the emotions that were at once so obvious to read. “Certainly. But let us go over today's schedule before you say any more.”

“Keep it short, Seteth.”

He seemed personally offended by her words, but moved to carry on. Over the years their relationship had evolved into one of trust, which Byleth did not take lightly. She would share most of her days alive with him and Flayn, after all, even beyond the time constraint that the world had placed upon the people she knew best. It was a calming knowledge, to think herself not quite as alone as she felt like.

But it made his words sting more, when he regarded her with that stare full of the wish to seek knowledge that she was not eager to give. Trust in his actions did not translate to her speaking the truth to him, after all. “Claude seemed...distant, today. I take it your view on politics is not quite the same as it used to be.”

She was thankful for his wrong reading of the situation, which meant she did not have to lie outright to him. “It has been difficult. But now is not the time to discuss this, Seteth. _Please_.”

“As you wish.” Her advisor procured a piece of paper seemingly out of nowhere, filled with a long list of meetings for her to attend to. His handwriting was neat and cursive, and much more refined than her entire posture could ever hope to be. “Lysithea has asked me to send you straight to Hanneman's office first thing in the morning, so please make sure to see to it. It might not be the most important task on your list, but it is a heartfelt one, and we should always strife to listen to the requests of our close allies.”

Byleth nodded. “Of course.”

“You were supposed to hold a service in the name of the Goddess at nine sharp, yet it should please you to know that I will take your place due to our change of plans. Claude – I yet hate him for ruining my careful planning – wished for the meeting regarding the hunt to be moved up.”

Seteth's scowl was visible, yet he seemed to try hard to keep his voice even. “The rest of the nobles are currently being told that you shall meet at ten instead of twelve, now. Use this added time wisely – perhaps you could indulge Hilda and Lorenz. They just arrived, I have been told.”

Byleth simply nodded, though managed a small smile. No matter how much free time Seteth granted her, it was never enough when the world ought to try to get a piece of her, each day anew. She was sure she would not make it to the dining hall – she yet refused breakfast in bed – before a barrage of requests was asked from her. Yet it was the simply things, the good intentions, that managed to lighten her burdens just a smidge.

“After your meeting you are required to let the common folk seek you out until the evening hours. The choir practice that we had to postpone yesterday will be held at eight instead. It should last a good two hours, and will be the last of your tasks for the day.” A quick smile. “Do tell if there are yet questions plaguing you, Lady Byleth.”

“No, it is fine.” She moved to take the parchment out of his hands, and quickly checked each bullet point. “I appreciate your concern, though.”

“Certainly. I will be on my way now, I yet need to check on Flayn. Do call for me – though not for tea time – if anything starts to trouble you.” Seteth nodded his head both in respect and goodbye, and exited her room as gracefully as he had entered it. She was glad to see him get used to such endeavours, as it had taken him a long time to enter the Archbishop's quarters ever since she had taken Rhea's place.

Time moved on. Supposedly, not every change was a bad one.

But time yet had her in its grasp, and she thanked the Goddess in her for the quickness with which she managed to find her way out of her room and to the second floor. A walk with no interruptions was a rarity, after all, and she would file it away under the good moments that this day had provided her.  
It did not make up for her terrible night, neither her horrible morning, but it could yet save her noon.

Hanneman's office was a carefully contained mess of sketches and scrolls, occupied by only a single soul. It carried in it an atmosphere of the past, the smell rustic and rich. Old parchment had a nostalgic scent to it, and Byleth breathed in deeply before fully stepping inside. The woman sitting at his desk shuffled through papers, a small smile tugging at her lips, and her gaze ever wandered to the monocle positioned in such a way that each visitor could see it clearly.

When she noticed, amongst her studious sternness, how a shadow fell over her working space she raised her head. White bangs and freshly cut hair that grazed shoulders filled Byleth's view. “Ah, thank you for coming in.”

“It is good to see you, Lysithea.” Byleth felt an easy expression of warmth unravel on her face, somewhere between sympathy and sorrow. Back then, it would have seemed wooden, but she knew her pain quite well. “I hope you are holding up okay.”

She clicked her tongue in return. “Work is a great distraction. Did you know that Professor Hanneman kept a list of every crest-bearing power he could find? It is almost scary.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow, urging her to go on.

“He had detailed notes of every student! I never knew.” Lysithea huffed in what could be mock anger. “But the information he gained throughout the years saved me. I cannot let him down, can I? So I am working on properly filing his documents away, for easier access to said information later.”

This gave Byleth pause, and she stepped around to peer over the shoulder of her former student. “Ah, that's about me. Back when he studied the Crest of Flames, I take it.”

“Correct!” Lysithea let her thumb brush over the letters, always a tad too hurriedly written to seem pretty. “I can compile the ones about your crest for you, if you'd like.”

In between the upcoming silence, Byleth crept a little closer, so that she could properly rest against the table and stare at the notes with her old student. It reminded her of the times when Lysithea had come running to ask for study guidance. She was always kind enough to indulge her, and if this helped her in any form, then that was enough thanks for Byleth.

“That is actually why I asked for you", Lysithea stated. “Seteth was kind enough to fetch you, I take it? It feels good to be treated with the maturity I deserve."

“He did.” Byleth hummed, if only to distract herself from the missing nagging of the eccentric Professor. “Seteth appreciates your care and your wish to keep a piece of history alive.”

“That is all well and good, but I consider that a duty. I find that so many people act more like children than adults around these parts. And some still treat me like a kid! Ugh.” She shuffled papers with enough power to create a thumping sound on the table, and her fingers created creases. “Just this morning Claude came in – why is he even here – and asked me if my _Mother_ cut my hair! Can you imagine that?”

Byleth was drawn once more to her new haircut. It made Lysithea seem sharper than before, newer and older all at once. The bangs alone made her seem like her former self. “Has he never heard of taking actions where you can? I cannot change time, but I can take charge of my own future, now.”

“I apologise in his stead, Lysithea. Yesterday was...not the kindest to him.” She refused to speak the truth outright, but taking responsibility where she could should do well to soothe the fury taking a hold of her friend. It simmered down, at the very least, only bubbling on the surface rather than spilling out.

Lysithea let out a huff, and put her attention back to the documents in front of her. She straightened out the creases as best she could, then formed two neat stacks of paper. “He did seem...off. Even for his standards. And I suppose he did tell me I could come to him if I needed someone to talk to.”

“Still.” Byleth watched her pull herself out of the chair to look at the mess of sketches lining the walls. There was yet much to be done, if she wanted to bring in a new order to this room. Lysithea was braver than her, in that regard, for Jeralt's office was still much the same as when he had occupied it. “I do not know how you and he can-"

“There you are!” The voice that filled the room was booming, and pink locks came into view akin to a whirlwind. Hanneman's room bustled with life all of a sudden, occupied by warm arms and welcome hugs given out despite minor protests.

“Hilda...” Lysithea meant to pry herself out off her grasp, yet remained tight-locked in a group embrace together with Byleth. Her grip was much stronger than her physique might suggest, and the conversation from before died with her bubbly arrival.

“Oh come on, ladies. Relax, won't you? You're still so serious, it is honestly bo-ring!” She squeezed them yet tighter. “Cheer up! The anniversary is soon, and the group will be back together, and there's _fun_ to be had!”

Byleth coughed and forcefully removed herself from the hug, leaving only Lysithea to deal with Hilda's antics. The woman did not seem to have aged at all, face as pristine as ever, and only the two braids that her hair had been pulled into seemed to suggest an ounce of change. “You are here earlier than I anticipated.”

“Right. I, for once, woke up early, just to surprise my _dear_ Byleth. I'll have you know I even convinced Lorenz to re-schedule the planning for the new academy just so we could spend some much needed time with you.” Hilda, now fine with leaving Lysithea alone, was now busying herself with pulling Byleth's outfit back into the right place. No crease should remain visible, every nook and cranny was re-positioned carefully. “I don't know, maybe a ‘Thanks Hilda, you're the best!’ is in order?”

Byleth sighed, but relented. “Thanks Hilda, you are the best.”

Even Lysithea chimed in with a quick expression of gratitude, before she was yet again back at diving headfirst into her paperwork. She snuggly bound a couple pages together, her attention half on the conversation, half on the research. “Seteth told me you gave a donation to make the upcoming hunt possible.”

“But of course we did!” Finding nothing else to criticise about Byleth's outfit, she began busying herself by studying her former professor's facial expression. “My, my. You do need to get better sleep, _dear_.”

Hilda, for all her ditsy and dainty attitude, had a tongue as sharp as a blade. And so she should have seen her comment coming, but it caught her off guard like so many of her quips. The sympathy with which she laced her words made Byleth's stomach churn. “No worries, I'll tell Claude that he cannot keep you up all night when he's-"

“How do you know that Claude is here?” The interruption came quick, a hint too fast, yet Byleth lacked the energy to care much. Hilda had to keep her mouth shut, and she lacked any weapons to silence her that would be considered ethical.

“Oh, you know~”, Hilda started, “met him on my way here, exchanged pleasantries. All that good noble stuff Lorenz loves so much. They're still talking, of course.”

Lysithea looked up from her papers, head shaking. “If you wanted to delay the anniversary by a whole week, you could have simply asked Byleth.”

Hilda started giggling, that carefree sound so well groomed it sounded real when it was as fake as most of her dainty ways. “Oh, I'd only need to lock her and Claude into a room to achieve that.”

“Hilda!” Byleth seethed with the fury of a mercenary, and her former student stood as straight as an arrow within the blink of an eye. “Drop it at once.”

The rolling of her eyes that was dedicated to Byleth was not missed by her, yet Hilda behaved aside from that. She might have even muttered a _“Sorry Professor.”_ but Byleth couldn't be quite sure. Hilda stopped, at any rate, and made to curl a braid around her finger. It let Byleth focus on the ring on it, adorned with a giant glittering stone, the variety of which did not interest her at all. Yet she was driven to look at her own ring-clad hand in return, and formed it into a fist to keep the dread in check.

Byleth let her eyes roam to focus on anything but the promise she wore, and found solace in a tickling clock that Lysithea had hung up a couple years prior. It signalled that she yet had about an hour of time until Garreg Mach would dictate her day, and she could think of worse ways to start it than with tea with two of her oldest friends.

She voiced her question, and of course both agreed to it, one for the chance of gossip, the other to leave the weight of an empty room behind.

~☆~

Garreg Mach's dining hall was a busy bee whenever breakfast was served, and a day as cloudy as this one was no exception. Finding a place to sit had been difficult, not for the lack of space for Fódlan's Most Holy, but for the chance of peace and quiet. So they had opted for a spot at the edge of the seats, close to the kitchen.

The tea that they were served was hot and sweet, and yet much worse than the one she had tasted the night before. Her gaze flicked to the sky, only to find spotlights instead of stars. At least the bread was alright, and filled her stomach with more than bitter memories.

“Mhm”, Hilda muttered, careful to chew the food thoroughly before gracefully swallowing it down, “I wonder if Lorenz and Claude are here, too.”

Lysithea sipped from her teacup while leafing through a stack of sheets she had taken along. “With how loud the hall is, I doubt we'd be able to tell.”

“You never know. Claude has a way with making people want to listen to him. And Lorenz...well...” She coughed, obviously fake, and bit into her slice of bread once more. Supposedly, even she knew better than to explain his eccentric nature outright.

But they did not have to search for purple locks and fake smiles in the crowd, for the door to the dining hall opened to let the two men inside. They were yet engaged in small talk that seemed neither friendly nor furious From a distance, and yet both kept their surroundings in check, deeply aware of every sound that could alert them.

Of course people stared. They had ogled Byleth and her friends before, and now shifted their focus as the bored and newly awake ought to do. It was, after all, a special occasion to catch a sight of the King of Almyra and the head of house Gloucester alike. Perhaps they seemed more intimidating than the Archbishop in her natural habitat, however, for no one dared to overwhelm them with questions.

Claude smiled easily through the crowd, though, giving nods in a greeting that seemed as friendly as it looked genuine.

Lorenz loved the attention, though that had been nothing new. Byleth felt content to simply sip her tea in peace for once, and pushed out a sigh she had held back for the sake of seeming professional.

But then Hilda _started waving_, and painted on a smile as wide as her make-up was deep. “Lorenz, over here!”

Byleth looked to Lysithea expecting support, but she simply burrowed her face into Hanneman's notes, and so Byleth was forced to endure the shame that settled into her stomach and drove her hunger away. The two men, meanwhile, came ever closer, until at last both stood in front of their table while the entire dining hall seemed to evolve into a theatre stage. With her in the centre of it all.

“What a marvellous surprise.” Lorenz greeted them with an extravagant bow, before pressing a kiss to Hilda's cheek. “Are the ladies enjoying their morning?”

Claude, meanwhile, raised a hand in a gesture that was so mockingly sheepish it could barely fool anyone. “Anyone's spilled the tea yet?”

Byleth wanted to sink into the ground, and chugged her beverage as if it were alcohol. Thankfully, neither Hilda nor Lysithea deemed it necessary to answer his question.

“I do not quite know which tea you mean Claude, the ladies are all prim and proper.” Lorenz turned to Lysithea. “I heard about Hanneman, my condolences. Yet I am glad to see you care for your beauty – I hope the new hairstyle makes you feel like a new person.”

Maybe, if Byleth stared stoic enough, she could forego talking entirely. Yet Claude only drew an eyebrow as he watched her refill her cup and raise it back to her lips in one quick motion.

Lorenz visibly paled as he watched the hot steam of the cup waft through the air. “Ah, you seem quite...lively this morning, Lady Byleth.”

She gulped it all down, not breaking eye contact. Claude felt it to be the perfect moment to crack a joke that yet made her ever smaller. The grip on her cup tightened, and the entire porcelain began shaking.

Hilda snickered, Lysithea pretended not to listen, and Lorenz had never seemed quite as confused before.

Byleth's cheeks reddened.

Claude smirked.

_“Ah, so you did not spill the tea yet.”_


	3. Peace, no Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude has a plan, and a hunt is discussed.

Byleth felt the Goddess she held hostage laugh into her stomach. It ticked as clockwork ought to do, steadily moving forward until it ringed even in her ears. Claude, for all his plain written mirth, yet seemed to find an ounce of empathy in himself. He moved to lay a hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it when the scalding hot tea made the Archbishop cough. Or maybe it had been due to the lingering memory of yesterday, and the warmth of his body near hers as he peered into her eyes that were ever trying to gaze at anything but him.

Anyhow, he found himself coated in a thin layer of tea, and bit his words down as Hilda's broad laughter roared through the hall, so plainly loud it made even him recoil like a deer. A drenched deer.

“Oh Claude, you poor, poor soul. Has the tea been spilled, now?” If it had not been uncivilised for a lady to snort, Hilda would have let herself go even further. With the way things were, however, she let it end at a giggle fit that had her clutch her stomach in pain.

Lorenz, having been hit with just a few stray drops of tea, visibly showed his disgust openly while he made to step away from Claude. “I have no idea why you thought it was a good idea to chug down scalding hot tea. Were it not for Claude's hilarious expression, I would ask you to repay me for the robes you ruined.” He moved to sit at the table, then began putting the finest pieces of food on his plate.

His words reached her ears, but not her mind. Byleth yet stared ahead at Claude, who’s expression was stuck somewhere between a drowning puppy and a kitten throwing a hissy fit. He made to shake his hands to get the liquid to fall off of him, then picked at the thin braid stuck to his face.

“That's one way to answer, that's for sure.” His eyes regarded the wet strand of hair with disdain. “It wasn't quite the kind of tea I was talking about though, Byleth.”

Lysithea was busy checking her notes for any damage, but managed to roll her eyes at Lorenz – all while snickering about Claude's current circumstances. It was that alone which gave her away, since she tried to remain as nonchalant as possible, but failed greatly. Her words were filled with tiny hiccups when she voiced her thoughts, just as a maid rushed over with a clean cloth. “The entire dining hall is entertained, at least.”

The attention of the King of Almyra was divided in three parts – one belonging to the onlookers, one to the maid who's bright blush made him raise an eyebrow, one to Byleth who studied the way the woman busied herself with cleaning the worst of the mess that clung to Claude with a stone cold gaze.

The fluffy towel that she pressed to his chin and cheeks undid at least part of the damage and Byleth felt content to watch him. It was when the woman let her hands grab a hold of his cravat and hurried to unravel it that she felt the bile rise ever so slightly inside of her. She even undid the finely wrapped cloth around his head, a culturally significant Almyran piece of head gear which he had not worn yesterday.

Claude raised his hands in a mock surrender, the grin on his lips nervous for reasons Byleth could not deduce. But he did not shoo the maid away, despite her overly obvious embarrassment. In fact, after he took a good long look at Byleth, the grin only grew larger and brighter. She had seen that look on his face often – one that he only presented during moments of certain victory.

She wasn't quite sure which battle he had won, but felt sick to the stomach when she gave it any more thought. It was a lot less of a time waster to concern herself with her own state of dress, after all, she told herself. No woman who touched Claude in ways that could be read as mildly inappropriate could concern her. Not when festivities had to be planned and Seteth would chew her out for staining yet another garment.

The chuckle that rose from his throat was infuriating not due to the fact that it was aimed at a young pretty thing standing across from him with the prettiest doe eyes Byleth had seen in ages – as hunting deer was not a typical sport around these parts anymore – but because the dining hall made it echo.

An elbow hit her ribcage, and Byleth looked up with the intent to draw a knife from the table to use as a weapon. For a second she wondered whether the butter knife would suffice, if she stabbed hard enough. But it was simply Hilda staring at her with a very deliberate expression, eyebrows cocked upward and lips drawn into a curve. “Ohhh Byleth, your stoic facade is cracking.”

Her friend leaned into her, up until Hilda's singsong voice ringed directly in Byleth's ears. “Careful, he might notice how _jealous_ you are.”

Had she held onto another cup of tea, even more of the liquid would have been spilt. As it were, only the empty cup in her hand started to shake barely. Byleth hissed, lowly. “I'm not jealous, I-"

“Oh but of course you are~ Just look at those red cheeks of yours! Do tell me what sort of secret Claude is teasing us about, will you?” Hilda, ever sweet but never in an honest way, let her eyelashes flutter lazily. She stretched like a cat and let an arm snake around the Archbishop.

“Aww, Byleth, I know you'll tell me all about it. After all, I doubt you want Claude to know just how eager you are to murder that little lady over there.” A wink, and Hilda recoiled like the snake she was. Byleth felt the need to grip the knife she had ogled before, and began to stare the maid down, as though her stoic expression alone could shake the woman away from counting Claude's grey hairs in his beard. She treated it like it was the most amazing invention since tea.

Byleth should have spat the liquid into her face, instead.

“Ahaha, you do know how to flatter a man.” Claude was not tall, though tall enough to hand out head pats like foreign presents. It irked Byleth, somewhat, because the movement was deliberate, akin to how he would inspect his bow before each battle. His hand would glide over the material just like it did over the woman's hair, and he held onto a single strand as if to inspect it in particular.

Byleth knew well enough how to handle a weapon, and him regarding another person as one such thing had always been a dangerous affinity of his. Because it meant he used people, and he used them well. And it had never been a problem when she had been a tool for him, but now she wasn't, was his equal, and the dynamics with which he forced the hand of others was more clear to her. In this world where her word ruled, she wished back the eager looks of students rather than facing the curiosity of her followers.

“Your Majesty, might I clean you up as well?” The red yet coated the cheeks of the woman, and her hair was not quite proper, yet she radiated hospitality.

Byleth drew back the hand still wrapped around the knife. “I'm...fine. It's fine.”  
It wasn't - not really. Not when Seteth would have her head for daring to soil holy robes.

But the stain was hardly visible, and she would not reconstruct her mannerisms until she lost herself in a void of not-belonging. It was already hard enough to look at Claude and forget the signs of time that showed like finely aged wine on his features. She could not get drunk enough off of her feelings for him to forget that simple truth.

The bell, in sympathy, chimed to the tenth hour, and Byleth felt relief and anxiety well up inside her all at once. It was a humble sound, soothing if it weren't reminding her of her duties. She rose sharply, and stood from the table with the rush of a trained soldier.

Claude quirked an eyebrow, before realisation dawned on his face. It drove him away from looking like a setting sun, and she found some appreciation for that in her still heart. “I'm sure Lady Byleth appreciates it but we are, ah, running short on time.”

With a casually practiced manoeuvre he turned to the Archbishop to link their arms together, always holding an explanation at the tip of his tongue as though the suggestive gesture was nothing more than mere almyran customs. Still, in jest, he turned back to the maid and winked. “I appreciate a woman not being afraid to touch me. Good work.”

Lorenz sighed audibly, and shook his head while straightening himself out, the half-eaten piece of bread forgotten. Lysithea peeked up from her notes – and mid-chew – to wink a small wave in farewell. Hilda, on the other hand, made no effort to move whatsoever, content to dig into her breakfast.

“Will you not come to join us, Hilda?” Lorenz moved to lay a hand above hers, and she smiled up at him sugary sweet, teeth ripping into honeyed toast.

She gulped the food down as gracefully as one could, then moved to lick the stray honey off of her finger but thought better of it. “And listen to old geezers – no, not you Claude, you are radiant – speak political nonsense for ages? Ugh, I'll pass on that.” 

Hilda turned to Byleth, for but a second, voicing an unheard “You _will _tell me.” before bringing her attention back to her food. 

Lysithea spoke up without being prompted to. “I have notes to read and food to eat. If I go with you guys, then they'll be out of strawberry tarts and I can't let that happen.”

Byleth shrugged, as Hilda made an appreciative noise regarding the prospect of dessert. At ten in the morning. Were she still their teacher, she would have lectured them about it. Then again, her own eating habits were a patchwork of small snacks offset by political banquets and she would always prefer Jeralt's ‘everything goes' soup over Faerghus-bred boars.

Claude pulled on her sleeve, eyes bright. “Fódlan to Lady Byleth, we ought to leave if you wanna be ‘fashionably late'.”

Her gaze was yet stuck on the way his hand curled around her arm, the linked position of their limbs switched to something a little more intimate, and only the rigid posture that suggested he acted simply noble let the common folk not imagine any scandals. She had half the mind to untangle herself from him, but found his smile intoxicating in a way alcohol never was.

The maid had done a fair job, to be fair, and his hair was a bit more wild than a political meeting called for, the almyran cloth all but forgotten as it laid easily around his shoulders. Byleth thought back to the moments she had let her hands run through it, but banished the images in the parts of her mind where Sothis sat. She could mock her from the beyond, if she so cared.

“You smell like tea", was what she grumbled out, before following his lead. The laugh that followed this statement was a hearty one, and not quite as proper as the laugh from a noble should ring out. Yet even Lorenz found it in himself to smile, and trotted after them, a safe distance away.

And just like that the anxiety washed away, if but for a moment, replaced with comfortable camaraderie.

“You two look utterly indecent. Pray that my utmost etiquette will save you from scorn, my friends.”

Claude leaned over, eager to whisper-shout into her ear. “Hey Byleth, do me a favour and drench him in tea next time, yeah?”

“I heard tha-"

“That will cost you a new trade agreement regarding almyran tea leafs.” Byleth huffed.

Lorenz shrieked, almost childishly. “Why I heard that too-"

Claude simply grinned. “_Deal_.”

~☆~

The way to the room formerly known for all the war councils they had held there was one filled with eager questions and confused looks. For all intents and purposes they looked a tad...off, as it were. Though even the most curious commoner thought better than to ask why the King of Almyra and the leader of Fódlan travelled with stained clothes, the air filled with the fragrance of spices as they walked.

Byleth wondered if they had gotten used to her state of dress, which was often not quite as prim and proper as society dictated. But she led people well, she supposed, and robes ruined by a beverage were much more pleasant than ones torn by blood.

So, as they pressed on, time dwindled. And when they reached the heavy oak doors, is slowed altogether, almost to a halt. The faint squeaking as the wood gave way to the halls behind surrounded them, as distasteful grimaces of nobles came to life.

No matter, she thought. They could have her head with court intrigue, supposedly, but would never best her in a battle. Her expression was stoic as she stepped inside, heels digging out low sounds of the ground with the strength of a beast. Claude tried his best to move in line with her, now the one staggering behind, as Lorenz ducked inside and hurried to his seat at the far back of the room.

“Sorry for the delay~” Claude waved it all off with a wink, careful to not stare for too long at any one face, though he filed each expression away for later use. If he could rile them all up, he would, and he came prepared with plans and ulterior motives. None of the nobles seemed to have expected him – all according to his calculations – and yet none of them were ready to voice these thoughts.

“And what would the reason for that be?” A nobleman, one that belonged to the capital of the former empire, declared more than asked. He yet wore the colours belonging to the Black Eagles, and Byleth knew him as a supporter of house Aegir.

“There were...important questions to attend to. I suppose religious beliefs would simply bore you, however.” Her steps still resounded as she walked on, and Claude only left her side – and arm – once she took the seat at the head of the table.

Truly, Byleth remembered only a few, perhaps even less, of the names of the people gathered in Garreg Mach's halls. It came with the job, she supposed, though she would always remember each of the students she had taught. Perhaps Ferdinand himself would have sat in the spot of his old supporter, in a different timeline. And maybe Edelgard could have welcomed her sharp mind, instead of her sword.

Byleth sighed, the action heavy and low, a rumble that was equal parts past and future grief.

“I hereby welcome all of you. We shall start discussing the upcoming hunt soon, but before that-", she found herself gesturing to Claude, who was busying himself with tying his fine piece of cloth around his head as best as he could, “I shall have you all know that the King of Almyra will join us today.”

There was cautious clapping to be heard, fake-born and ill-driven, but rhythmic all the same. Byleth preferred the rumbustious fanfares of men in dusty pubs, but she would not tell them that. Instead, she let her own hands clasp together once, twice, gaze flitting to search for Claude's, just to study his posture.

The grin that he wore was even more unrealistic, a surreal spiel, and yet no one seemed to take note of it. He laughed, almost humbly, and attempted a seated version of a curtsey in jest. Lorenz, next to him, rolled his eyes.

Byleth moved on. “It was a welcomed surprise to see him arrive sooner, and we shall discuss the deer hunt with him. I want you all to-"

“Thank you, Lady Byleth, though I am deeply afraid that the hunt will have to wait.” Claude cut her off, teeth sharp, words sharper. “There are more...pressing matters to attend to.”

“He can't be serious”, a noblewoman from the Alliance gasped.

The men who travelled over all the way from Enbarr hissed in shock and anger. “What blasphemy is this?”

“Was this staged?” The man of house Aegir tugged at his beard in contemplation.

Lorenz ducked his head, voice grim. “Oh dear Goddess, no...”

Byleth felt her hands grow cold, and took hold of her ring to rotate it, anything to keep her mind running a mile a minute without her mouth stepping in. So she took a deep breath, before speaking up once more.

Claude, at least, motioned for her to say what she needed to say.

“What is the meaning of this, Claude? Each topic that is needed for discussions such as this needs to be brought up beforehand.”

Her political ally – political opponent – simply gave her a deliberately calm response, shoulders slack, body relaxed in a way none of the other attendees were. He rolled his shoulders, listened for the crack of overused muscles, then moved on. “I understand. Know though that the matters to discuss are important, and refusing to hear me out shall only harm your reputation.”

A smirk, as bright as a false God, sneaked onto his lips. “Rhea would have your head for it, I'd bet.”

The people in attendance started whispering amongst themselves, a cacophony of insults and ingrained worldviews too narrow for his far-loving soul. It spoke of their very natures, brought voices full of poison to life just to kill off any further elaboration he had in his pockets. The reality of peace which they had achieved seemed yet more grim than bloodshed battlefields on days like this, but Claude was armed with words and wishes that would always undermine any integrity he fancied himself with.

They could see him as a wolf, if they wanted, someone to hunt down peaceful deer if it brought game to the people. Claude von Riegan was a busy man, with fast ideals, and a short fuse. He never exploded, had already become something akin to a star in his lifetime. If it meant playing the bad guy to bring upon change, then he would, though never to conquer with false aims of superiority.

Maybe Edelgard had been right all along in her approach, but he would never stoop as low as to throw a flock of blind sheep into the wide open maws of political and religious beasts. He simply had to tame the beasts themselves, and would make even his most desperate wish into a shattering weapon if that is what it took.

Studying her posture was an easy time waster, and Claude leaned back in his chair. There was a stiffness to her movements, as if her joints were not oiled enough. She breathed just a smidge faster, and from his position he could count the hairs that stood from her neck. One could liken her to a piece of prey, and no matter his ways with her, with politics he preferred to be the predator. The guilt could gnaw at him later.

It had been the right choice to leave her out of his plans, and instead push her into the battle of brains with no preparations. That gave him the upper hand for the policies that were to be discussed. Not that it was a sick fascination that drove him to seek an end that justified his means – it was for the simple benefit of his people.

He had earned himself a reputation, over the years. It was a double sided edge, ever hurting someone though never him as long as he played his cards right. Claude made sure to keep his wits in his pockets, along tinctures of poison that he simply had to speak. They were always more potent than those of his enemies. “I am quite _honoured_ to see all of you make an exception for me.”

“And why exactly, pray tell me Your Majesty, is the Almyran Snake King with us? Nay, why is he deciding the topic of debate?” A noble to her right hissed in her ear, and she stared at the table.

“The King of Almyra has decided to grace us with his presence much earlier than planned, all for the sake of his country.” She exhaled harshly. “If you cannot give him the courtesy befitting of a King, you, as a _Lord_, have no place at this table.”

The man, someone who regulated territory from Faerghus if she remembered right, decided to press his luck. Pressing buttons was an easy endeavour, though he did so without the grace to hit the right one. “Easy to say for someone bedding him for favours.”

Byleth was stunned to silence, and opted to stare furiously ahead. She was not sure if she appreciated the way Claude's mouth opened like a maw ready to pierce through flesh, his teeth glistening ever so slightly under his bloodthirsty smile that seemed yet so civil if he angled himself just right. Which he did. Politics were a game Claude knew how to play, and his arsenal of weapons was a silver tongue and a golden grin.

“Ahh, I appreciate you thinking myself powerful enough to turn the Archbishop to _sinning_. Remind me again of it whenever I get the chance to get her to _beg_ for my forgiveness.” He kicked back the chair in one swift motion, boots catching the edge of the table leg in such a way that he just passed the threshold of not looking uncultured.

Lorenz, from his seat next to the King of Almyra, seemed ready to throw his arms into the air. He huffed just like the noble whose face dared to become red in anger, though his expression was ghostly pale. “Claude surely you-"

“And you are insinuating what exactly with this, Claude von Riegan?” A deep breath, then the man muttered under his beard. “...almyran scum.”

“Nothing inappropriate, though I should have been well aware of a man like you reducing our Majesty over here to nothing but her flesh.” Claude let the chair fall back to the ground, the power of gravity making the moment the object clashed against the stone one that resounded in the otherwise shockingly quiet hall. “I, as the gentleman that I am, simply refer to our political squabble.”

The nobleman took aim to draw a breath of air in preparation for a tirade to come, but Claude silenced him with the wave of his hand. Byleth felt her knees shake ever so slightly, and drew her body taut to compose herself, head held high. “For the record, Byleth has to bed no one for favours of any kind.”

“I heard enough.” She tried to act composed, even as the subject of her anger zeroed in on the noble clad in the peculiar blue that reminded her so much of a dead man lying in his grave. Dimitri, for what it was worth, deserved a representative that honoured his integrity, no matter the shadows that had swallowed him whole. “You shall have your title revoked once the meeting is over. Then you are free to challenge me to a duel in order to try to reclaim it.”

She rose from her seat, hand hitting the table hard. In-between her seething words she caught a look of both the emerald stone on her finger and Claude's green eyes. “And I will fight you until I have you _begging_ me for favours.”

All was silent, save for the man's unrecognizable babbling. She was half sure she heard a prayer out of his mouth. Had they given her the right to carry the Sword of the Creator, she would have used it to strangle the man. As naked as she was, however, she opted for a knuckled fist, hard hitting if she were to ever let it make contact with skin and bone.

Her gaze was still trained on Claude who, mercifully, at least seemed to gulp when her stoic nature wouldn't falter even after he tried to squirm his way out of her mental grasp with a lopsided smile. “And what do you wish to discuss here today, Claude?”

He stood up to keep level with her, sprawled a hand out on the table, calculative enough to bring Jeralt's ring that now adorned his finger into her direct point of view. “New territory policies and trade agreements. You will find that house Gloucester has been informed of the necessary details already.”

As though shot twice with an arrow, she turned just slightly to stare a hole into Lorenz' head instead. At times like these she seemed more like a mercenary, more like a teacher, than Fódlan’s most Holy. “Is that true, Lorenz?”

“Ah, you see, Profe-“, he coughed once, ever gracefully into his armpit like it was fit for a noble, “Your Majesty. I was not aware of being set up in an Almyran scheme, you should know.”

Byleth shook her head, but commented no further. Instead her full attention rested on the shoulders of Claude once more, who hit her back with an intense stare that was more serious than it had any right to be, aimed at her. At least it silenced what part of her was capable of feeling pity for his grand ambitions, even if they were ploys to get her to move her strategy in a certain way. “So you want _pieces of Fódlan_?”

“_Need_ parts of Fódlan”, he corrected her. The nobles were yet struck between awe, shock, and anger. “The last few years’ summer draughts have crippled the yield of our crops.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow, looked down on him as best as she could, keenly aware of the heat that had plagued even her own lands. But Claude pressed on, and did not wait for a response of her, even as the surrounding attendees seemed to cling to her lips as though she could put an end to this farce.

He deliberately raised the hand that held the ring. “As leader of the Almyran people it is my duty to see to their hunger-"

But Byleth cut him off, voice stern. “We can cut import costs. Send seeds to balance out what was lost.” After a second, she clarified further, seeking an easy way out when everything else she offered him was hard to grasp. “Raphael should arrive tomorrow. I am sure something could be arranged.”

“I am afraid that just won't cut it, Your Majesty.” Seeking none of her laid out options, he let his arms come together in a defensive posture, even though everything else about him remained airy and uncatchable.

“You of all people should know the importance of a union. We have that, now.”

Thinking back to younger times, his smile took on somewhat of a melancholic nature. “I am well aware, friend.”

“And yet you jeopardise it so lightly? I care little for the border of this country. But this instigates riots.” The crowd gasped, once more, and mingled under themselves with even harsher whispers, this time catered to her, and even more so against Claude. It was the furthest from what she wanted, but they had raised her into the position of a leader, so leading is what she would do. Against Claude, if it so happened to be the case.

“I vote for refusal", muttered the noble from Enbarr.

The lord from Faerghus nodded lazily. “For once, I agree with you.”

And even the lady from the Alliance chimed in. “Go tell ‘im, Lady Byleth!”

Lorenz remained silent, twiddling his long hair between finely manicured fingers as though it could keep his composure together.

Byleth, visibly, roared, shoulders shaking in what was more of a war cry than a political statement. She wondered when time had managed to bring even prospects of peace into the hands of hardened warriors, as though peace was a weapon and they both wielded it with sharp edges. “Though peace rules, you are old enough to recognise that people will be people, yes? I can't judge their emotions clearly. But I hear their words.”

Claude shrugged, arms now open in a gesture that welcomed rebuttal. “Let them have at it, I'd say.”

And the nobles became animals, bearing profanities like claws. “Almyran Snake King”, they called him.

“I knew he'd break our peace treaty eventually”, shouted others.

Some could barely hold their bile in. “I fail to see why the Archbishop adores him so.”

“Wasn't he always untrusting of Fódlan?”

Some questioned his very upbringing. “I heard he always used Lady Byleth to further his own goals. What else could have happened, with how he was raised?”

“Silence!” Byleth let her fist collide with the table, let it swoop down like an eagle, let it pounce like a lion and rip into the flesh of deer. “You can only have your authority called into question so often for rumours of _bedding a foreign King, Claude_.”

All the words seemed to wash off of him, old blood from wounds that were already healed years prior. But his smile fell when she talked. “You do not understand, _friend_. Almyra needs to rent Alliance territory because of hunger. My plan entails that for the time being, all yield taxes will belong to my government. We will make sure that _no one_ has to suffer starvation.”

Thinking his words over, he let his voice fall down to a smooth tone, warm, almost pleasant. She caught a hint of pleading underneath his gaze, unable to properly file it away under emotions she was sure to not be fake. “This includes those belonging to you. This isn't about expanding my territory. This is about reducing suffering. Should you not accept my terms, then I shall leave the rest of the festivities in your capable hands.”

In the end, what mattered most was the simplicity of it all. A foe fell if you were to strike him down. No person could survive having their entire blood drained. No animal would live with a cracked cranium. Byleth felt the realisation hit her face more than she noticed the gears in her head coming to a dead halt. Sothis snickered, somewhere deep inside her, and cradled the worry that took form in the depths of her stomach. “So you arrived early to force your will upon me?”

Lorenz, feeling particularly brave in facing Byleth, raised his hand to gain her attention. He drew his body into a posture that was more brave and regal than he felt, “I shall have you know I knew nothing of this plan, I thought this was all set in stone, I-"

Claude cut him off, however, which earned him a deliberate sigh and huff from Lorenz, who sat to his right. The smile he sent Byleth after was quite forced, and did not reach his eyes in the slightest. It was mocking, almost, were it not for the careful shift of his hands that yet positioned the ring in a new light. “You know me, friend. I do not use you lightly, but ah, yes. You _could_ say that I am here simply to force your hand.”

He raised said hand, decidedly uncaring of the people watching, and pointed to her own, the one that shined emerald green like his eyes. “But that isn't the whole truth, and you know this as well as I do.”

She unwillingly found herself trapped in the cage of attention he put her into. Felt gazes crawl over her skin, and shivered in return, so slight it barely registered in her own mind.

But her hand trembled, an entire storm of emotions she could not show otherwise. She gulped down honesty, and the words that came with it.

“Anyhow", he continued on, watching her eyes widen in shock, then something akin to embarrassment, “I will not expect an answer straight away. The gritty bits of politics are difficult, hear hear. But! If you fail to offer me a favourable policy, then I shall leave after the hunt tomorrow.”

“I, uh”, he coughed lightly into the hand not adorned with a ring, “shall attend and crush you in battle, of course.” Claude seemed to rid himself of the hardened persona he painted with vivid, bright colours, eager to put away the mantle of a noble as early as he could. It felt easier to breathe after, and he sat back down in a lazy sort of way, as though none if the other people in the room ever mattered.

“Go on, then, folks. Plenty of hunting to discuss, and I'll shoot your behinds if you fail to be _deers_ about this little tumultuous _affair_ of ours.” A wink, and Byleth reddened in spite of herself.

“Your Majesty, I vote to discuss the upcoming hunt without our special guest-"

“Overruled.” Byleth settled back into her own seat, only giving the noble the grace of her attention after she had taken care to rid her clothes of any unwanted creases, despite not caring about her state of dress in the slightest. “He stays. You are, of course, free to leave the room and forfeit your ability to join in on the festivity.”

Some nobles, with them the man from Enbarr, actually rose from their seats to leave, but thought better of it in the end, and settled back down. Maybe they knew better than to fight the air of heavy peace that pressed down on their shoulders, or maybe Byleth's expression kept them rooted to their spots.

The conversation carried on, despite it all, not in eagerness, but with the will to keep on keeping on. Lorenz sighed a visible breath of relief, and spoke up. “I say, as the representative of House Gloucester, that we shall start the hunt east of Garreg Mach.”

It seemed to channel the other nobles to fall back into a welcomed scene of posh and elegance, whatever insult that rested on the tip of their tongues forgotten in the moment.

Quickly, a handful of them piped up with piqued interest, bringing their own ideas to the table. Byleth felt her shoulders relax, and even Claude looked full of relief, his attention yet fully trained on Byleth, even though his posture seemed to suggest otherwise. She was always at the corner of his field of view.

The noble from Faerghus looked around the table. “I would prefer west of Garreg Mach of course, though it is true that the east side harbours a great many deer. It would be good hunting grounds.”

“Will we have a golden painted deer this year, too?” The noblewoman from the Alliance let her question hang in the room.

“Of course.” Byleth nodded. Hunting for fun instead of hunger would never sit quite right with her, but this sporting event was held for a feast, and even the commoners would partake in it, so her morality could rest easy enough. “As always, the one to hunt down the golden stag shall be declared the winner.”  
Claude grinned, a bit selfishly sure of himself.

“And it is, as always, a great _honour_ to have my school days be treated with such utmost respect.” It sounded fake, just a little, though no one seemed to dare to call him out on it.

The noble from Enbarr raised his hand. “What about the time, then?” He coughed, once, to gain more attention. “The same as last year?”

Byleth hummed in response. “At eight sharp, indeed. It shall last until the sun has set. Is anyone aware of the rules?”

Lorenz, ever aware of rules and etiquette, took over gracefully. “But of course, Lady Byleth. We shall not hunt down any fawn from this year, any kill must be handed over to Garreg Mach, and should the golden stag escape, then the noble with the most kills will be declared the winner.”

“On top of that", Claude chimed in, “the winner needs to give a speech at the upcoming feast, and will be responsible to pay for drinks. That should be all.”

A rather new noble felt the need to ask a question that had Claude chuckle in response. “And is foul play allowed?”

His grin was wide, and bright, and toothy.

“As long as you can get away with it~”

~☆~

The rest of the discussion regarding the upcoming hunt had proceeded quite smoothly, and before Byleth knew it most nobles were engaged in idle chatter to form hunting groups. Most stuck to their own tightknit relations, though she was happy to note that a noble or two teamed up with someone from an opposing faction. She could hardly enjoy the semi-relaxed atmosphere however, as most of her mind was swirling with thoughts regarding Claude's forced request. It would cause her little sleep, and even less free time.

The meeting drew to a close sooner than she realised due to this, and as she went outside the man who had wronged her took his chance to apologise profusely. She let him keep his place in the hunt, though did not revoke her challenge to a duel. In the back of her mind she wondered how eager Felix would have been to fight her, and missed fiery stares in the nobleman's eyes. He had simply taken her word, and stumbled away, fallen halfway from grace but not far enough to bring upon any true change.

It was what it was, she thought, and took a deep breath of air. The other attendees gave her curt nods as they exited, and were yet engaged in pleasant conversation when they left down the hallway. Lorenz had excused himself soon after as well, and before long it was simply her in the hallway, until a tender hand moved to rest on her shoulder.

The rest of Claude appeared in her field of view soon after, and the smile he gave her was lopsided, part honest, part guarded. “You did well in there.”

She pressed a smile into her lips by force. “Ah, I hope.”

“No, you did.” He showed more teeth, then, and moved to stand closer to her. “You are a capable opponent on the battlefield and during politics. Think it all over, and if you have questions regarding my side of the deal, you can simply ask.”

She nodded, though it seemed less certain than he would have liked.

"Oh, just one more thing", he began, voice easy, "there may be a chance to establish further bonds to Almyra's East."

Byleth hummed non-commitingly. "I need further information than that, you should know."

"Certainly", came the answer. "One of our Marquis' who recently passed has a daughter, you see. And that daughter got a marriage proposal from a Duke from one of the countries bordering Almyra."

Claude started to lean against the wall, only to correct his posture when Byleth clicked her tongue. His overtly non-political ways of carrying himself were hardly fit for the place they occupied, now open in public, but she supposed he had never tried to act all prim and proper even during the meeting.

"We established trade routes already. The territory lays close to ours, which makes arrangements much easier to handle." He shrugged. "I thought you might want in on that, further your reach and all."

"Your drive for unification is insatiable, Claude", she huffed. The atmosphere of Garreg Mach's most Holy Halls felt cold, even underneath all her garments. She admired him for it all the same, as a political ally. It was the things she was in the dark that dared to irrationally drive her remark to carry an air of anger with it.

The smirk he sent her was smug, all the way from the edges of his lips to the tips of his ears. Sharp from start to end. He drew closer once more. "Ahh, I'm _insatiable_, all right."

Byleth shook her head, a bit harder than she intended. Then her mouth moved almost of its own accord, and she did not know how to keep it shut. “Claude, what happened this morning-"

“Is partly my fault, as well.” He rubbed the tension out of her shoulder that had appeared once more in self defence, gradually easing her into his touch as though it came second nature to him. “For the record, I would, of course, _never_ make you jealous on purpose. _Trust me._”

“But I was not-", she started, and found a finger pressed to her lips.

“Sheesh, gimme a break. I know when you blush.” His gaze flitted through the hallway, making sure that no one else watched the two of them. Then he ruffled through her hair, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, before he whispered in her ear. “And _how to make_ you blush.”

She moved his hand away from her mouth, and huffed. “But yesterday-"

“Is in the past.” When he turned to stare back into her eyes, it was with an intense honesty. “We need to talk about your fears, but not now, and not until you are ready.”

Byleth, like a freshly hunted deer, looked ahead with nothing but shock frozen into her face. Then she let her gaze sink to the ground, head held low. Her body must have shaken, because Claude moved to put his arms around her protectively. Pressed her to him, all caution forgotten, before he let go again to keep her at a comfortable distance. “I don't know what it is, but it's a lot huh?”

Claude had always been a two sided coin, a being eternally stuck between fire and ice, never truly whole whether in mind, body or soul. The truths he weaved were made up with personal lies and worldly wishes, and each dream had been a star hunted down with the intent to kill. He could move like water with flames in his eyes, and touching her only needed to start with an inch or two of all the love he harboured. So it was just a finger, grazing her cheek and sliding down her skin until it landed underneath her chin to raise it, all so she had to stare up at him, that started a downward spiral. When she began fidgeting he let the rest of his hand follow, until he trapped her with the grace of a man that yet dared to ask with his eyes whether such an action was allowed. Kept her there, until his gaze was enough. His hold loosened, then, affectionate when before it had almost seemed desperate.

“Look at me.” It was a command, a _plea_. Part heavy; long deep breaths and a shudder in his voice. Part airy; a cautious chuckle and drawn out patience. He kissed her, then. Let his hands fall away completely as though to give her an out, mouth soft and just barely able to hold back. His limbs took hold of her hips, eager to rub the tension out of her until a sigh was his answer.

He drew her to him, then, steadied her head and lower back and hugged her to himself with the strength of a man that had managed to unite half the world but never truly the two of them. And he squeezed her stronger still, as though she were everything that humanity was made up of. There was little else that he needed aside from her still heart and quickened pulse.

His words, when they reached her, were young and fragile. New feelings born from an old love and the desperate attempt to hold the world together. They reeked of guilt and gluttony alike, and somewhere between his whisper and his whimper she thought she could shatter with him, and leave everything but the stars behind.

“We might have been political opponents today. But let's be lovers tonight, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far!
> 
> I will try my hardest to find time to draw a cover image for For Whom the Stars Shatter in the near future, as I'm also a hobbyist artist. =)
> 
> I will also make sure to link to this fanfiction on my tumblr after that image is done, so if you'd like to follow me on different social media accounts, just hold out for a while and I'll update the necessary information next chapter! 
> 
> Until then, I wish you a great day!
> 
> \- Cirro


	4. Invictus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specfic Tags: Enthusiastic Consent, Funny Banter, Vaginal Sex, Female On Top, Blowjob, Panic Attack, Aftercare
> 
> In which choirs sing and kisses talk.

When she breathed words, it was a “_Yes_.” against his lips, and an eternity of shared silence, basking in the twinkle of his eyes, where the firmament of her world was closest.

But then she looked at everything outside of that glittering horizon, and saw halls and hallways and holiness. She let her touch linger, pushed feelings into his arms when she brushed over them, and intertwined their hands together.

Her former declaration had its fire snuffed out, and she pressed her body to his in a hug of rejection. “I'm not sure we should.”

“Why's that?” His voice was honey-stung, and hurt despite the sweetness. “I don't intend to manipulate you.”

“I know that!” She felt her tone raise, just like the bile bubbling up in her belly. “It's not about that.”

“Indulge me, then.” He had stepped back just a little, still held onto her fingers, but his gaze was sharp and hawk-like, and Byleth was reminded of the dedication to a cause that Edelgard had possessed. She wasn't sure what his dedication was aimed at, however.

“I would never force you, but I want to know _why_-"

He could not finish his sentence however, for steps resounded in the quietness of Garreg Mach, and she was quick to step away from him until they stood like allied nobles should, rather than old lovers.

When Seteth turned the corner his eyebrows shot up in quick realisation, and his expression soured with the same forcefulness. “There you are, Lady Byleth! And here I was putting poor Flayn to the task to fetch you.”

Said girl rounded the corner just that moment, and showed clear surprise once she spotted the unwelcome get-together.

“Ah! Brother - and Byleth! And Claude, too. It is a pleasure to see you again, Claude.”

He huffed, but inclined his head in a nod. It was fascinating for Byleth to see him wear his smugness like a sheep's pelt, even as the wolf underneath yet longed for her touch. He picked at his cravat as though he was in any way concerned with how noble his clothes made him look, and put on a fake smile.

“The same goes to you, Flayn. Tell old grumpypants Seteth over here to lend you some of the good almyran books I brought over, alright?” He winked at her, and she giggled and blushed.

Seteth's scorn only seemed to grow, a seething little flame that kept his face all red. “I would much rather not disclose to her what _filthy_ literature you read in your free time, Claude.”

“Damn", he chuckled, and it ringed so hollow in Byleth's ears. “I only ever stole historical books from you, if you recall.”

“And romance novels", Seteth remarked, “and I am fairly sure you were never into knights in shining armour.”

Flayn fidgeted nervously, and pulled on the hem of her dress self-soothingly. Byleth gave her a grim smile, but it seemed human enough to put her at ease. Yet Seteth had already cooled enough to leave Claude to his own devices, fed up with the way he smirked, and turned to the Archbishop now, in order to regard her with disdain.

“Do tell me why your clothes are stained with tea another time, there are people waiting for your guidance and you are late.”

“My apologies", Claude hummed, the tone melodic in a way shallow waters were, “Byleth and I here had politics to discuss.”

A soft sigh escaped Byleth, before she nodded with the same sort of stoic facade that people knew her for. Most of the time it was her second skin rather than a mask, but her stomach curled in frustration upon being interrupted, and she cursed Seteth's timing under her breath.

“My apologies, Seteth. Let's give them something to believe in.”

This seemed to raise his spirits a little, and gave him back an aura befitting of a being that had to debate more than he wanted to in his lifetime. He accepted her peace offering with a low hum. “Do hasten your steps, then, Lady Byleth.”

He inclined his head towards Claude, before starting to move to the chamber that held the throne. “Flayn, you are free to partake in whatever activity you may fancy. Yet do keep an eye on our almyran guest here, he seems awfully...mischievous today.”

“I shall do as you say, Brother.” Flayn nodded with the patience of a saint, and turned to Claude with a twinkle, careful not to give it away as she talked with a formal smile. “I would much like to discuss what tasteful books you brought over.”

Byleth excused herself with a nod, and made to follow her advisor, though she could feel Claude's gaze like centred arrows in the back of her head. There were many tasks to worry about yet, and much to keep in mind if she wanted to let her composure live on.

The steps that resounded as she walked felt as hollow as the dread in her, and she could make out a contrast to Seteth's walk, which was born out of an acceptance for the fleeting beauty in life. Byleth thought that for him, time must not have mattered for years now. Ever since Rhea had passed, each day was simply another reality to partake in, and he would move forward with its ever changing current.

Sometimes she wished she could be a bit more like him, but then he would fixate her with a stare of a man who had lived a thousand false personas, and she was glad she could count hers on both hands.

“I am aware of the current state of affairs being taxing on you", Seteth voiced. “Know though that it is not the world that is malicious, but people, and each person you hear out may be a soul that can rest with less worry tonight.”

“I understand", she said thinly, a bit wired but it lacked the barbs to hurt.

“The nobles let me know what Claude plans for you to do.” He laid a hand upon her shoulder, but didn't squeeze. It rested there for a moment, before he put it away once more. “It is a grave choice to make, yet history will only ever remember it as a footnote.”

It wasn't enough reassurance to wash her worries away, but it made them easier to bear. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, though genuine, and stepped into the halls that were filled with knights and noble knickknacks.

She was regarded with the utmost respect, yet it was a guarded adoration, something quite unlike what she had witnessed during her teaching days. She greeted the men and women present with but a nod, and when she moved to settle down on the throne Seteth followed her to stand beside her.

Soon, people started trickling into the room, nobles and commoners alike, and she let her ears take note of problems that could not reach her emotionally, for they were fickle things that spoke of the easy sins in life. She had drawn blood and extinguished futures of people she had taught , and a man cheating on his wife could not compare to such horror.

“Lady Byleth, I- the Goddess must forgive my sin! Oh my poor, dear wife will kill me if she ever finds out-"

That didn't sound all that bad, to her ears. Seteth next to her seemed aggravated just by the thought of bedding another person while in a relationship, but the only way he showed it was with the click of his tongue. “The Archbishop has heard your plight.”

“Tell her the truth and try to salvage what feelings remain", she voiced cool, “the Goddess cannot forgive your sin if you do not acknowledge it.”

Maybe she should take her own words as guidance, but Sothis did not speak her annoyance, and so she could file her demons away like her title that she had worn as a mercenary. The man thanked her as though what she had said was profound, and left so the next answer-seeking lost little lamb could stumble to her.

“Your Majesty”, began the man, a noble, “I would like to know your plans regarding the request put forth by the Almyran King.”

She stiffened, shoulders tense within a moment, and stared ahead with a stoic conviction. “You shall hear my announcement tomorrow. Unlike Claude von Riegan, I play a fair game, and fight without schemes.”

Seteth nodded next to her, and tried to shoo the nobleman away with as much elegance as it took to play level with one of his status. “There is nothing to worry about. Lady Byleth knows fully well what she ought to do, so placing her position in jeopardy helps no one.”

That was a lie.

One Seteth did not have to know.

“It is just like Seteth said. Know that you can get a restful sleep tonight, and that the hunt tomorrow will not be one that has an air of fear looming over it.”

“Yet I-", the noble started, but was cut off with just a glance.

She voiced her thoughts with a patience born from not being herself, and it fit the persona she portrayed, so no one was ever the wiser that she would rather have ignored him altogether. “You shall focus on the beautiful things that the Goddess grants us. Now go.”

And he went, though his grimace was one that simply suggested he took her words to heart, when he obviously hadn't.

Byleth sighed after, and welcomed in children and seniors alike, those who wanted prayers, those who spoke of forgiveness. She talked about the future as though it was a fated encounter, and not a fickle plaything for her to toy with. When she mentioned the past it was with great respect, even as the agony in her rose evermore.

And they all praised her as holy and her words as divine, and went on with their lives.

Finally, the church bell rang and signalled her that time had taken pity yet again, and she prayed silently for Sothis, before speaking to the last patron of the day.

“Do not worry, your fields may lack the bounty they had yesteryear, yet Sothis watches over us, and Garreg Mach will always have its halls open for you and your family.”

The man in front of her, a farmer not unlike those in Almyra, bowed deeply and clutched his ragged clothes. “Thank you, ma'am, that is, Archbishop-"

A sigh, deep and rumbled, and he stood again and stared into her very soul. “May the Goddess bless you forevermore.”

And he left, just like that, while she felt cursed to have seen his very nature of dedication to her. He had worshipped her word as much as the thought of the Goddess herself, and it exhausted her.

Seteth stepped closer, to look into her tired gaze. “I do have to say that you managed this as well as anyone could. Gather your breath, Lady Byleth.”

He waved a hand, and the next thing she knew a servant handed her a glass of water, the pitcher still in hand. She chugged it down gracefully, despite wanting to down the entire glass in one go. After she was done she handed the empty cup back, and rose from her seat, the tiredness that numbed her body forgotten because a mercenary knew no rest.

“Let us join the choir practice, then. I am eager to see Flayn sing.”

“Certainly.”

~☆~

Songs, as it turned out, could even mellow Byleth's hardened nature. She had become accustomed to them over the years, knew most lyrics in and out, and could find joy in them. It was a different type of happiness than old pub chants roaring from the mouths of hardened men were, but it soothed her, and maybe a piece of actual holiness was stuck in between the pages and lines that sang to the earth.

She stood next to Flayn, who gazed at her in wonder from the corner of her eyes, and the two of them sang in harmony, something that only years of a standstill nature could web into people. It was a kind reminder of the fact that she was never truly as alone as her past would have her believe. Still, she was glad that Seteth had left a few songs prior, as that made engaging in idle activities a much more fun experience.

The people of the church were a union, brought together by an urge to hold onto the same future, and while she longed for the voices of charming believers such as Mercedes, she could yet appreciate the very nature of kindness that was shown in these halls.

Here, politics took a backseat to the words of divinity, Almyran adventures and Fódlan folklore. Behind stained glass windows everyone seemed to be the same, and Byleth thought that Rhea would have never quite seen the act of singing as quite so simple.

The music ebbed away then, and when Byleth raised her head from the bound book in her hands she stared into eager faces of people who cared for her opinion that came from the heart, and not her mind.

She laughed, and it ringed almost true in her ears. “You did great, all of you.”

The choir organiser radiated a type of beauty that Byleth saw rarely, one that spoke of being content with your place in life. Flayn noticed it as well, and parted her lips to show bright shining teeth.

“This was wonderful!” So excited from the peaceful nature in the church she almost jumped up and down, and only her etiquette stopped her from squealing. “I never heard some of these songs before, you just have to let me join you for the next practice as well.”

The organiser chuckled in reply, and went through the rows of people to collect the finely bound books. “I am pleased to here that. Everyone is welcome to join us, as long as Our Majesty wills it.”

“Of course!” Byleth parted with the thinly stacked papers in her hands, eyes still trained on all the titles that history remembered. One of the songs had been about the war, and singing it had been a freeing experience, because it glorified nothing, and she enjoyed a song charged with emotion. It made showing her feelings easier, and the many heartstrings that the choir played with akin to a harp made her forget that her’s was a silent organ.

She thanked the people gathered for this event personally, gave each one a handshake and spoke a unique prayer for the group, and then they disbanded, ready to come together another day. The organiser kept busy by putting the music sheets away, and Byleth turned to Flayn and engaged in soothing small talk as the two of them made to leave this place built for Sothis behind.

“I wish we could have had more time to talk today, Byleth. There is a novel that I wish to discuss with you, it is simply _radiant_ you see, and so full of heartache it might even make you blush!”

Listening to Flayn was easy, it had always been, and the smile on Byleth's face seemed to double in size upon seeing her so excited. “I will seek you out after the hunt tomorrow, alright? If you let me borrow it, I'm going to read it whenever Seteth doesn't watch.”

She was glad that he had left the choir practice in the middle of their performance.

Flayn giggled in response, eager to stash away more truths in Byleth's heart. “Certainly, it shall be our secret. Brother seemed excited to see you light up, I noticed.”

“Did he now? He mentioned he wanted to watch you sing.”

“He did.” She nodded with conviction. “These days, Brother seems more worried about you. I wonder why- ah, Claude!”

At that, Byleth's ears perked up, and she hurriedly searched for brown locks in the otherwise abandoned church. He sat in the last row of the long benches, a lazy smile on his lips that offset the dark circles under his eyes.

Flayn hurried over, and Byleth kept to her pace, until he was in earshot and listening to his voice would not mean he had to shout inside holy halls. He inclined his head in welcome, and leaned back in a way that would have Sothis mutter furiously under her breath.

“What a performance!”

Flayn giggled. “You quite liked it? Oh I am so glad, everyone is trying their best to please you!”

“Is that true?” He cocked his head to the side, and focused on Byleth in particular. “Do they now?”

She shook her head upon noticing the obvious flirtatious undertone that he had laced his words with. “Everyone is trying their hardest, it's true.”

“You too?” He pushed air out of his lungs to blow strands of hair out of his face, and the evening light caught on the small braid that he wore.

Byleth huffed, a bit undignified. “Of course.”

Like a snake, he wormed his way out of the grasp that her words possessed. The topic switch seemed smooth to untrained ears, but she knew better, and regretted the air of uncertainty that began to hang like chandeliers in the atmosphere. “Do you like the novel, Flayn?”

“Oh it is amazing! I already finished reading it – I just could not stop myself – and mentioned to Byleth that I wish to discuss it.” Flayn seemed like she could yet go on about the plot, but stopped herself to keep the surprise.

“Great!” Claude hummed to the melody of the last song they had played. “Say Flayn, if I bring you a new novel tomorrow, will you let me borrow the Archbishop here for a late evening talk?”

She nodded. “I suppose that entails Brother should know nothing of it?”

“Smart girl.” His grin split in two, and looked much more like the eager schemer he had been in his younger years now. Byleth felt the dread settle into her stomach once more, and put on a smile of her own that could not dare hope to rival the expertise with which he crafted his own.

He wanted answers, and those she lacked. More so, she had questions of her own and knew he would not disclose answers of his own. Everything could be so much simpler, but it wasn't, and so she accepted her fate and bid Flayn a good night.

~☆~

They parted after the bridge, and Claude led Byleth through the gardens on a stroll, effectively in the know where no people gathered and she pondered why he must know this, but felt most of her thoughts revolve around their unfinished talk.

He brushed his shoulders against her when they walked, and it was a heavy silence that draped over them like a blanket. Byleth moved to voice a sentence, but found no fitting words. Claude, on the other hand, simply seemed to not wish to say anything.  
They stepped underneath a firmament of freshly awoken stars, and he looked up at them while keeping a slow but steady pace. She followed his focus, and tried to pinpoint what she knew about the constellations that drew pictures into the sky.

The wyvern that she spotted was a constellation she knew well, as Claude had pointed it out often, as well as its significance for Almyran sailors. He spoke up, as if he knew she thought of it in particular.

“Back home we all ride waves with the guidance of wings. I always found it curious, that Fódlan prefers the stars that make up the Goddess to find their way.”

“I don't think any option is bad", Byleth replied, thankful to find her voice, “as long as you get to your goal.”

“I wonder about that.” He lowered his gaze back to her, but kept walking. “What _is_ your goal?”

He got her. Had played her like a fiddle when all he had as strings were arrows.

She fidgeted, and avoided his gaze, picked up her pace instead. It did not surprise her in the slightest that he strode forward with long steps, and took over to guide her towards his own goal, as she seemingly lacked one herself. Before long even the stars had dared to hide themselves again, as they stepped into manmade halls and pressed onward.

“Let me tell you mine, again.”

She collided with his back, when he suddenly stopped. It was with wonder that she noticed he had led the two of them straight to the room he was staying in. He opened the lock with a key he procured seemingly out of nowhere, stepped inside and turned to look at her.

“It's _you_, plain and simple.”

She stared at the door frame that divided the two of them, and stepped forward, then back. Her cheeks were yet dusted pink, a look that he had always appreciated and hunted for, but now he simply stood before her with a fact, and waited for an answer.

“You don't kiss like a woman who wants to say _no_, Byleth", he explained when she yet stayed silent. “So if it is anything I can fix, I will.”

He could not fix what plagued her. That was bigger than the both of them, and not a dream he could change.

But the part of her that was yet committed to happy endings and not stories with open eternities wanted him to keep her safe, and secure, and never let her go. So she crossed that border into his room, silently, and buried her face in his chest.

He seemed surprised by that, and went to wrap his arms around her. “You thought it over?”

“I can't be alone with all that's on my mind.”

It was as much of the truth as she could give him openly, and it seemed enough at the time, because his voice sounded much lighter when he whispered into her ear.

“We _can_ fix that. This is about you, okay?”

He moved them both over to his bed - after he had locked the door - and carefully settled her down onto it. After, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed both her hands with his own. She looked at him, her gaze yet hesitant, but his breathing was even and his hands were warm.

“If you need to stop at any point, then we will. Just, you know, don't leave a guy hanging without a notice, yeah?”

She nodded, did it again when he wasn't content with the lack of confidence with which she moved. “Okay.”

Claude squeezed her leg once, before he settled down beside her. When he cupped her cheeks to settle a soft kiss upon her lips he yet searched for any rejection in her eyes, but found none, and pressed a little deeper.

Byleth felt the tension in her body leave, a slow but constant stream of feeling lighter, and she hugged him and breathed deeply to forget all the roles that the world would cast her in. Here, she was little more than a woman, and could indulge in the fantasy that history would just forget the two of them.

It certainly would forget this night.

Claude smirked into the kiss, parted his joyful lips to take all of her in, to taste and touch and tremble in her arms. His body was an electric concert, wrapped between her future-seeking mouth, eager to change even more than just their position. There was music to be heard, made just for him, born from a hungry throat, her song better than anything an instrument could provide. His own tones resounded deep, bass-like.

He did not part from her when he let his arms sneak around her body, ensnared her with the poisonous touch of a snake, lifted her onto his lap then, until she was the one straddling him, keeping him rooted to the spot. Not that he ever planned to leave, not when he could wrap her around his finger until the lust became a tightknit coil in the depths of her body. Claude wanted to snap, sink his fangs into her shoulder, but didn't. Instead he moved to press a kiss to her exposed collarbone, tender like her flesh. She felt the upward motion of his happiness tugging at his lips, and giggled softly.

“...this a type of worship you can get behind?” His voice was muffled, kept low because he nuzzled her skin, his beard tickling and drawing more happy noises out from her. It had caused less laughter, back when he had worn it shorter, but for the moment she welcomed it all, because it was all part of him, and his hands on her thighs wasn't nearly enough friction.

She shifted slightly, let her body test how far she could tease before she would get a reaction out of him, but he just looked up and pouted at her with the intensity of a man that _could_ pout because he had learned to be patient. “Now that isn't fair, Byleth, ah-"

He repressed a soft moan, gulped it down and she analysed how his adam's apple bobbed up and down. Part of him was about to raise an objection, ask her what was so utterly fascinating, but then she latched onto his throat to lavish it with kisses, and the words died on his lips. She had done this often, and knew to wrap a hand around his neck, raked her nails carefully over his most sensitive spots, before she held on entirely.

He fully growled, then, and she stopped to show him the tiniest smirk, finally feeling the needed friction build up underneath her as she lazily grinded her body into his. Were she to ever lay with others, she would not dare to voice cheesy thoughts, but Claude made the idiotic phrases into playful theatre plays, and revelled in them. “It's a good prayer, yes.”

He grinned back at her, brighter than any candle in the room, and pressed his lower body upward, slow and self-indulgent. They could have their time, he decided, eager to defy what bounds the world had set for them. When he caught hold of her hips it was with a fragile intensity that let his nails scrape against her covered skin, and he wished the fabric away but did nothing to bring upon such change.

But he pressed her down, pulled her as close to him as he could, a young groan on his lips that he let fly as he kissed her once more, mouth open and hungry to catch whatever sounds she would let soar. His tongue explored her with what could only be described as mock patience, and the smile that dared to break her face in half was the sweetest gesture he hoped to chase.

It was hard to part from her, as part of his body melted into hers and other such parts rose to new heights. Claude was stuck somewhere between being wyvern-free and horse-bound, and bucked his hips, unable to resist. His hand rose so that he could let a finger touch the tip of her nose, and she stared up in surprise, the moan on her lips momentarily forgotten.

“What is it, Claude?” She cocked her head to the side, eyes wide, and her attention was on the finger that he wouldn't take away, that he dared to move with her motion, as though it was glued to her. The slightly cross-eyed look was cute, in an entirely innocent way.

He simply laughed, and let out a breathy sigh, a trembling little thing that tickled her cheek. “Nothing.”

To keep from grinning too brightly he bit the inside of his mouth cheekily, eyes full of mischief and the mirth of a teenager. “I think I just found a religion I can believe in.”

She playfully hit him on his shoulder, head shaking even as she started to move more purposefully on top of him. His answer was a soft bite to her earlobe, and she shivered in return. “That's, hnng-", she huffed lowly, “great.”

“Okay but", his lips sucked the pain away, before he continued on, “indulge me here, please: What if I am a _sinner_?”

Her laughter was melodic, and hit him in the stomach, where it uncoiled into pleasurable numbness. “Because I’m afraid I lied today. I'd _totally_ bed you for favours, you know.”

“Oh my", and she made to rub her cheek against his, “the Goddess will have your head.”

When he sat back far enough to rest their shared bodyweight on the strength of his arms, hands hitting the plush mattress underneath, he let his gaze wander down to the fast building pool of impatience in his pants. Smirked up at her after, entirely pleased with his trail of thought. “Will she now?”

He caught the way her eyes widened just slightly, the smallest hint of surprise on her lips which opened with a quiet gasp. Then a hint of the schemes that he loved to play so much found it's way into the twinkle of her irises. “That depends.”

“Does it?” He lazily shifted their weight onto a single arm, used his free hand to let it fall to the edge of his pants. With a longwinded motion he tested both of their patience and stroked the fabric above himself. “On what?”

“Prayers, mostly", she mused. Then she teased the hem of his shirt and let her fingers delve below, until she could feel well toned muscle and a trail of hairs pointing downward. She had never been keen on being something holy, but he managed to throw her fears away and form them into something more playful. Because it was joking about her position that made it feel less real for a night. For that, she was thankful. “You can beg for forgiveness, can't you?”

A chuckle, and Claude meant to grab her hand and hold it to the part of him that ached for her touch the most, but she was faster and drew it back entirely. “Byleth...”

His voice was a low purr. ”I don't _beg_.”

He chased after her touch then, pressed his lips to hers once more, a bit more eager and a tad less innocent than before. Opening his mouth was an easy endeavour, and he brought tension to the table in more ways than one. When she broke it off to catch her breath he sent her a smug grin. “I _ask_, of course.”

When he tried to hold onto her hand this time she let him, and he made sure to catch the ring-clad one. He stared down afterwards, and huffed out a breath of air that was both light and heavy at once. “If you'd forgive me with that mouth of yours, I'd be sure to worship your- pffft.”

Just like that, a deep laughter bubbled up from his throat, and Byleth giggled in response. Claude yet held onto her hand, even as the treble of joy shook his body. “I'm sorry I- that's too much even for me.”

His grin was askew, a bit more desperation-charged than it would be in another situation, but the trick-loving part of it was all the same. “Sheesh, you do things to me. But that's impossible, I can't keep that up as well as the, ah, other part of me.”

She seemed genuinely relaxed on top of him, and let him brush her hand over the fabric with creases born from tension. At the same time as she took charge and rubbed small circles into him, her own body begun to grind down on one of his legs, after she had slightly re-positioned herself. “This one?”

“Mhm", he murmured. He did the same thing he had done before, and leaned back on his arms to watch her, careful to keep his body under control. The laughter from before had turned into an appreciative rumble. “That one.”

“Okay.” Her statement held no weight to it. She shifted further forward, used her whole hand to apply pressure now. When she spoke next it was with an air of finality to it, a tone that sounded so much like her lectures way back when. “I need to see you less collected, now.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing much", she hummed contentedly, before she let her second hand join the first. Maybe it was somewhat unfair to want to see him bested in bed when she couldn't do so in court, but it gave her control over _something_ in her life. “You'll see.”

It was his turn to quizzically rotate his head to the side, but she had already started to unbutton his pants. Byleth took her time, though, played the clumsy lover when he knew she was the complete opposite. But he enjoyed watching, and felt the bottom of his body grow hotter with every brush of her fingers.

He felt some of the strain ebb away the moment she had succeeded in her task, and gave her head an appreciative pat as thanks. Then a lazy grin sprawled out on his face, and he nodded to her garments. “Must be hot in there, huh?”

Her mind raced back to torn clothes, and she quickly drew her hands away to check, but found no tears. The slightly confused look on Claude's face was one she ignored, and instead she let her fingers unclasp the cloak that signalled her position as Archbishop. It fell behind her with a dull thud, and when she went to untangle the mess of ribbons at her back to hold her dress in place she caught Claude's watchful gaze out of the corner of her eyes.

When the fabric slid down her body to pool around her hips, his mouth opened in surprise, somewhere stuck between appreciation and the need to hold her close. It doubled tenfold when she started to open the corset underneath.

Claude clicked his tongue. “Sheesh, they really bound you tight today, huh? C'mon, let me help.”

He sat back up, a bit impatient after all, and reached around to carefully give her room to breathe. It took a while, much longer than he could handle, and so she kissed him in-between to bridge the break that they had to endure. After, he gave one of her breasts a playful squeeze and chucked the corset into a corner of the room.

“You know", he wondered aloud, voice raspy, after they had settled into their preferred position again, “I could get used to seeing you like this.”

“Commit the picture to memory, then.” She hummed, and let her hands sneak forward once more, brushing against his legs, wandering to his thighs, then further up until she could grab him, but didn't. Byleth let her fingers linger, just to tease. Most certainly she would remember this moment longer than he did.

His breath hitched in his throat. “A-already did, of course.”

“Good.” Her line had a finality to it, and as she – finally – decided to put him out of his easy misery his nails started digging into the mattress below. She leaned forward, then, and returned to her former pace on top of him, but made to draw closer, until her mouth was just in reach.

“A-are you making good on that, ah, promise of yours?”

Byleth blinked up at him, counted the beads of sweat that trailed down his forehead, and gave him an experimental lick without breaking eye contact. The result was instantaneous and loudmouthed, and had him gasp while she rocked back and forth.  
She took her time to take him in, pressed a kiss to his skin, let her fingers dance across his flesh, almost soothingly. He had said this should all be for her sake, tonight, but she felt her stomach coil in agony when she thought about how she had used her divinity to control the narrative of their relationship before.

This action of hers would not change such a disgrace, but it could let her take the arrow out of the wound of rejection she had given him, and so she committed herself to draw pleasure out from him.

Byleth felt him run a hand through her locks with appreciation, even as his hips bucked forward and the rest of his movements were the opposite of gentle. He stroked her hair with a sort of patience the rest of him did not possess, and it made it easier, for her, to restrict the negative aching inside of her to that little voice in her head that would, perhaps, never truly shut up.

“By-", the cracked word poured forth like a stammer, and Claude took deep breaths that should steady his voice but didn't. “Stop, I _can't_-"

She looked up, then, and drew away for a moment. He found her to be perfect, with her cheeks aflame and breasts bared in front of him, but lacked the words to voice these thoughts, so a grunt had to do. “I want-"

“Yes?”

When she rose to level her gaze with him he kissed her without hesitation.

It was a lost little lingering kiss, one that lasted but never pressed deeper, it simply basked in the warm glow that she provided. One could call it fragile, almost, because it was given without restraint but held no roughness within.

Then his lips parted to speak, and she felt his words more than she heard them.

“-_need_ you.”

The smile that she kissed upon his lips in return was genuine, and kept her fears at bay. Claude found her to be quite collected despite the warmth pooling in her stomach, but then she had always been difficult to form into a heaving mess if it wasn't from battle, and he could fall in love with the soft breaths she huffed each day anew.

She nodded in response to his words, and started to unbutton his shirt in quite the same way she had done so in a reality that lay dead in a grave now. Uncovering parts of him had always been a difficult endeavour because he wasn't good at trusting others, but unravelling his clothes was simple, and the way he helped her along the way made it well known that he cared much for the truth, when it came to her.

Once they sat in little more than open pants and a half fallen dress, he picked her up and stood from the bed. She held on with the strength of her calves, and he nibbled on her shoulder to keep from moaning as he laid her down on the mattress.

She looked much more young and innocent than he knew her by day, the way she shimmied out of her gown and underwear. It barely fit her, that untouched look of something pure, but she must be it, if the world saw her as holy enough to carry the dreams of men like him on her shoulders.

It made him want to be completely vulnerable with her, and so he tossed his own pants to the side with little difficulty. She had watched with curiosity, and raised an eyebrow. “Whatever did the poor fabric do to you?”

“Says the one who drenched it in tea.” His smirk was playful, but ripe with tension, and as he hovered above her she reached out her arms to touch his chest, and looked contentedly up at him as she explored his body with her fingers. Her touches were fleeting things, all of them almost eager to die as soon as they had sprung to life, and part of that was terrifying even as she made it clear that she wasn't going to pull back from this.

When he settled between her legs the grin on his face double in size, and as he let his touches wander further up, ever slowly closer to the place that felt the most alive with her pulse, it became almost hauntingly eager to scheme.

So she repressed her voice when he touched her, when he let his fingers curl, and made to draw all sorts of vocal tones from her. Byleth held onto her sounds like a soldier, had never been eager to show even pain on the battlefield.

Here, her knees grew weak, and his playful ways had her draw her lower body upwards as the tension rose. He could string her along like a newly crafted bow, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming out.

“You sure you can keep that up?” There was a strained tautness to his voice, and the way his fingers moved. They vibrated almost, and she saw the sweat on him travel downwards.

Her own hands trembled as she reached out for him, and she meant to push herself upward so she could press a kiss to his lips, but he pushed her down with his free hand, and bridged the gap himself. There was little patience left, replaced by passion, in the way his tongue moved.

The open kiss dragged her moans from deep inside her, and she shivered and moved with every touch of his. He yet tasted of everything foreign, and mostly himself, and she could care less for how sloppy the action seemed when she reached around him, found his behind and pressed him closer to her.

There were words on her lips that he drowned in, and so they went unsaid, but when he moved his arms to steady her and rolled his hips slowly she was aware of what would come next, and mouthed more words that he would greedily drink away, but the action of love could be felt still.

She needed to say them, though, openly, and drew away to breathe them into his neck. “I lo-"

The other half fell victim to her heavy breathing, her hungry moans, and she bit into his skin to keep a semblance of composure as he entered her. Byleth felt him stroke her hair with an erratic movement, not quite soothing but trying to be, and she nuzzled the spot that she had given a mark in return.

He would need to hide that tomorrow.

Yet he didn't seem to care.

“By-", he mumbled, and the way he started moving was almost gentle, offset only be the way he started grabbing her upper arms, nails digging in, drawing more sounds from her as he settled into a strained but slow pace. “Y-you okay?”

“Mhm", she hummed lowly, “you're doing, hnng, amazing.”

“So I, ah-", he tried to settle into a pace comfortable for them both, and she wrapped her legs around him in encouragement. “-get an A, right?”

“That remains to be-", she breathed out harshly suddenly, raked her nails across his back, hips trashing about.

“-seen?” Claude finished for her, grin askew but beautiful, and pressed a kiss to her cheek before concentrating on the way she moved below him, and how it made him want to lose control over himself and their entire situation.

He bucked his hips forward, until his movement became more erratic and the sense of patience that they tried to maintain was lost completely, eradicated by feelings more primal than playing noble and much more in tune with the way they could dictate the outcome on the battlefield.

It was when he pressed his body as close to hers as he could, that he grit out words with his teeth that were hoarse and cracked at the seams, but harboured future wishes like a newborn star.

“Let me...l-let me hear your – voice. M-My last name, please, I need you to be _m-mine-_"

She was silent, suddenly. A soft change that was hard to pinpoint, and a less experienced man would have ignored it, but Claude stopped his pace, and simply stared. His expression spoke volumes of worry where her voice was quiet.

“Claude-" The rest was swallowed up, fell into a lake over twenty years deep, and it was enough to break down the dams which she had build around her heart. He let a hand cup her cheek in an attempt to keep her emotions from overflowing, but then a lone tear hit his skin, and she had never cried for him before ever since he had saved Fódlan.

His pleasure left him to die a helpless death, and he recoiled in fear of breaking her, letting go of their union so that he could lay next to her and stare into her cloudy eyes that rained too much for him to make up for it with a sunny smile.

Claude kissed her forehead instead, just barely, as if that could shoo the storm away. It simply freed more of her tears, and they fell onto her collarbone and travelled downwards. She followed them with her gaze, all across her naked body, and raised her fingers to her wet cheeks as her lover grasped one of her hands in his own, as if that could repair whatever damage he had done.

“...what's wrong?” His words were so unlike him, sounded like they belonged to another man; because they ached with a hurt she couldn't place, couldn't possibly understand, for it was all her fault and none his.

She hiccupped a noise, and clutched at his grasp as though he could keep her afloat. Byleth buried her head in the crane of his neck, deep enough to dig a grave for her heart. Kept it there, and let him brush over her back with his free hand. It was soothing, was supposed to calm her, she recognised at the back of her mind. But all it did was achieve shivers, none of them born from lust or comfort.

“Byleth", her name from his lips was hoarse, cracked at the edges, and painted such a broken picture in her head. She clutched at him more desperately, as if that could extinguish all the despair. “Talk to me, _please_.”

“It's not-", she started, pressed the words into his skin more than she said them, and she felt him stiffen beneath her. There was a restlessness to his rigid posture and she wished to speak more but tasted the tears that wet her lips, and grew silent once more.

“Did I hurt you?” He pushed her away from him slightly, carefully, steered her shoulders in a direction which allowed him to see into her face. Then he let his gaze wander, let it hug all the parts of her body to find whatever pain he had caused. Shock flitted across his eyes afterwards, and his mouth hung open, surprised in a way that he would never dare show to people.

Byleth knew Claude as a man who formed the world to his liking, who could turn words into gold when everyone else's were made from copper. Yet no smile rested on his features, and his eyes bare of schemes made him seem hollow. He exhaled harshly. “Do you think me as low as to bring politics into _this_?”

Upon finding her face full of the feeling someone who had just been hit would express, he let his lips press into a thoughtful frown. “No, that's not it. And I'll go out on a limb here and say you'd never cheat on me, because that's not you.”

The nod she gave him was barely noticeable, yet he saw it and laid his hand above her own in response. She flinched, but did not move away. “I'll figure it out, don't you worry.”

A tightly protected grin rose on his features, more guarded than even those he would give to nobles and commoners alike. But it was genuine, and that made all the difference. “Your face isn't scrunched up in pain, so I doubt I was too...harsh with you.”

Claude let his free hand move through his tousled locks, and blew stray strands out of his face. It did not ease his nerves, but was a welcome distraction from having to look at her silently crying form. The tears yet chased her nightmares with fast hooves, but she had stopped whimpering, which calmed his heart somewhat.

And she yet looked up at him, so whatever it was, her sadness wasn't due to what he had asked of her tonight. “I have a few theories in mind.” His voice was soft when he rubbed circles across her palm. “Think you can stomach hearing me out?”

“Not...”, she gulped the fear down, partially. There was a wing of hurt that fluttered over his heart, and so he grabbed the crumpled blanket on his side to drag it over the two of them, ending its flight. It calmed her enough to find her voice again, that fickle thing so goddess-touched it spoke in holy tones even when she felt hell-bent. “Not tonight.”

He breathed deeply out of relief, pulse quickened but less so in worry than before. Rejection would have stung even his eyes to draw from her tears, but he could live with a plan. “Tomorrow, then. Promise me this.”

Byleth felt the intensity of his words, and pushed a kiss against his temple. “_Tomorrow_.”

He sighed in return, the kind that gave way to a refreshing relief, and she felt his heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, one that could calm even her at a surface level. When she removed herself from him to lay back in a position where she could admire his tenacity to hold onto her heart, he stared back with a whole whirlwind of emotions.

“Let me make you comfortable", he pleaded with forlorn eyes. He looked at her naked form, and found her more vulnerable than ever before. Part of him wanted to shield her, while the other kneaded circles into her tense shoulder muscles. “Not like before. Not ah, _that_ type of comfortable. I promise.”

She nodded, simply, though the action was full of weight. He counted the drying tears that left residue behind on her cheeks, and made to wish them away with the touch of a single finger.

“Come here.” Claude patted the spot in front of him, then sat up and opened his legs just wide enough so she could nestle between him, his nakedness halfway hidden by the blanket. He was not quite sure how far he could go, but made to lift the cloth just a little.

Byleth shivered, whether from the cold or something else she did not know, but it counted as an easy solution to fool her brain into welcoming the fluffy warmth that Claude was offering. So she crawled over, and settled in front of his heated torso. With caution, she let herself bask in his comfort, and leaned back. He pulled the piece of fabric over her, let his thumbs catch the sides of her breast feather-light as the rest of his hands were occupied with bringing her comfort. After she caught the blanket with her fingers she pulled it up a smidge more. It was after she had sighed deeply that she seemed to ease into him.

“What do you plan to do?” She felt him play with her hair lazily. His touch was kind, and caring, and everything but cruel. Claude let his fingers play with her silken strands, caressed her scalp, everything to comb the demons away. It calmed her, the fact that every movement was languid and longwinded.

He seemed to get an idea, and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. It tingled, just a little. “May I braid it?”

“Braid...it...?” The words that she spoke felt numb on her lips, quite unlike her, but raised like a child reaching for a far away memory. When he let his fingers glide through her hair to untangle the small knots that had formed during their roughhousing she found herself back in the mind of a much younger her, one that came home with twigs and leafs as decoration. Jeralt had done the same for her, decades ago, had combed out all the life that seemed to get stuck on her whenever she went out to play.

Claude hummed gently into her ear, and made to separate her locks into three equal parts once he was satisfied with his work. Then he tugged at them once, twice, just strong enough so she could feel it. “Your hair.”

She nodded, and he criss-crossed her locks evenly in reply. His handiwork was skilled, fingers gliding with ease, and she was sure it brought him the same joy as creating elaborate plans for the future did. “Did I never tell you that I've learned this from my mother at a young age?”

She shook her head, and he clicked his tongue in reply. “Keep still, please.”

“But well, yeah, she taught it to me. Was kinda...eerie, I guess, because she was such a tough woman since, well, always.” Claude let his tongue run wild together with his fingers, formed her hair akin to stitchwork, and she had always appreciated the way he bandaged her wounds. This was the same, somehow. He fixed emotional pain with each turn of his hand, and her heart was getting patched back together.

He sighed audibly. “She had told me it was a soothing activity, for both parties. But you need to work diligently for it to be pretty.”

“It was a training in patience, then”, Byleth wondered aloud. It seemed like a task Jeralt would have given her, but with him it had been sticks and strings and a river at her feet. Fishing was a diligent endeavour, and only those with a calm spirit could succeed.

She voiced these thoughts. “Jeralt would make me fishing rods, and say to go catch us dinner.”

“It's similar", he mused. Her voice, more steady now, calmer in the way it rumbled, put a smile on his lips. “You still love fishing, don't you? I would braid my hair whenever I needed to ground myself. Helped this foreign brat to not feel quite as...lonely, I suppose.”

“But you stopped after the monastery fell.”

“Too true.” He twirled a strand around his fingertip, and busied his mouth by placing a kiss on top of her head. She felt his breath vibrate when he picked his voice back up again. “Maybe I thought there was no purpose to it anymore. Maybe I grew up.”

A quick silence filled the room before he resumed. “What I wear now is just a reminder of it all. And an almyran custom. And a blast from the past. Also, it makes me ruggedly handsome.”

He smiled into her hair, and she turned around slowly so she could look at him while shaking her head. He was a beautiful man, but he knew this, and she knew that no one else would get to see him wrapped in nothing but a blanket, braiding their hair. Cleaning his face with a towel and untangling his culturally significant cloth pieces could not compare to that.

Claude clicked his tongue and motioned with his eyes to his arms that still held onto her locks. “_Patience_, Byleth. We're not done yet.”

He moved to turn her back around carefully, and she let him. After, he worked with dedication, pulled and tugged with the knowledge of someone who could have been a great father, but wasn't. She wondered if he would have done the same if she had had a daughter, whether or not she would have seen finely braided hair whenever she looked into the face of a young, eager schemer.

How would a child of theirs have looked, anyhow? She could imagine tousled locks and stern lips, or sun-kissed skin and goddess-touched hair. Maybe they would have settled down somewhere in Almyra, or maybe they would have lived close to the Monastery. Perhaps they could have lived without a firmament of dreams, in another life.

“All done now.”

His voice brought her out of her solemn thoughts, and he tugged at the finished piece of art once to see if it would hold. She let her hands reach for it, brushed against his before she felt all the intertwined strands that formed a web of his adoration for her. Her hands moved from the roots of her hair to the end of the braid, felt the way he had wrapped hairs around so that there was no way for it all to unravel.

“May I take a look?”

He laughed with the night, and Byleth wondered if the sun would come out for him. The candles yet burned and tinged them both in a glowing gold, and she rose from the bed with the knowledge that he was close behind. When she found a mirror that stood almost forgotten in a corner of the room, yet fully naked, she saw him in the reflection, standing just behind her.

He raised her braid and pulled it over so it could lay over her shoulder, and Byleth turned her head to appreciate it from all sides. It made her into a different person, she mused, someone more content and complete. Someone who perhaps had it all together, and could wear elaborate hairstyles with the purity of a maiden.

It looked off, unlike her, but in the best way possible, and she turned around to stare into his eyes and imagined a reality in which she could walk with him, with braided hair and bearing his name.

“You...I just...”, she stumbled over her words, then cupped his cheek with her hand. “_Thank you_, Claude.”

The way he leaned into her touch made her skin turn rosy pink, and she tried to dust the colour off of her face, but failed. He stared at her intently, deeply, and she saw the light of a thousand different realities in his eyes. The night tinged him with the darkness of a secret identity, and each sign of passed time seemed erased for as long as they stood there, content with the comfort of co-existence.

Tomorrow would come and wash it all away, but the night would claim no more tears from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This beast of a Chapter is almost 10.000 words long, phew. It took me about 20 cute baby animal videos to finish it because oh boy did writing this embarass my pure, innocent maiden soul. (๑•́ ω •̀๑)


	5. Ink Stains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which words are written and plans are made.

He dressed her like a fawn – quick and quiet. Could huddle with her underneath sheets all night, pressed close to her heart, and wait for Mother Earth to come and get them. But the problem with does and stags was that the day would hunt them, and he would have to stay hidden to avoid the arrows.

So he let himself indulge in whisper-kisses and warm breaths, as he hid her body from view. His fingers brushed memories into her, so deep she could feel the heat of him in her veins, and his mouth danced across her neck with the intent to stay. When he wrapped her corset close it was with the care to let her keep her breath, despite the eager wish on his lips to steal the air from her and leave her breathlessly behind. Thinking selfishly, he yet turned her head upward by tugging on her braid, and draped his body above hers so he could pickpocket a kiss.

“Can't you stay?” He mumbled the words against her lips, fingers yet drawing the strings of her corset tighter.

Byleth kept silent. Whatever words she could have said, none of them would correctly convey the feelings she harboured. Because the answer was a yes, it was a no, it was everything in between and nothing seemed right.

She let him deepen the kiss, for the moment. Closed her eyes and felt the divinity in herself pulse against her fingertips. It would cost her just one prayer to the Goddess inside of her to feel the closeness of a shared intimacy again, but she let the seconds run through her hands and forced her present self to enjoy the minutes that were left.

When she parted from him, he grinned, because she heaved a shaky breath, and the pride that stained his touches was a mischievous little demon that made him take a hold of her hair. When she swatted his hand away it was in mock horror. “Stop it. If you keep this up the braid will be ruined.”

He nodded understandingly, though his hand snaked forward once more, and he pressed her to him, effectively trapping her in-between his naked torso and exploratory fingers. It was the simple fact that he did not dare to undress her, but rather wrapped her in fabric like a present, that made her certain he would not try for more unless she encouraged it. “Too true, we can't have that.”

Each syllable he said sounded mockingly, his words were mere satire spoken with mirth, and she sighed in relent when his lips found their way to her neck, now much easier to shower with kisses without her hair in the way. “I have mild poisons in my possession, you should know.”

He felt her surprise beneath his fingertips as his hands took hold of her breasts, the effect this had plain red on her cheeks and stiff underneath her undergarments, and he wondered whether his words or his actions gave her pause. “One word from you and your maids will find themselves unable to attend to you in the morning, and I shall have you all to myself.” 

“That would be cheating, Claude", she muttered as she leaned back, basking in his warmth and the reality that he was yet there, holding her steady when her heartbeat refused to be her own. She loved the humming sensations of his body, always unlike the silence that ran through her ribcage.

“Oh sheesh Byleth, live a little.” He rested his chin on her head, a bit possessively, just charming enough to seem innocent. “Back when you were my Teach, we'd concoct all sorts of schemes. What's one more?”

The breath she let out was a fragile display of a fight. “Tempting, but no. How would you go about that anyway?”

He squeezed her to him, once, before moving his head to her shoulder so that he could whisper into the shell of her ear. “Eager to know, aren't you? I have my ways with words and people. You need little more than a handshake to have someone in the palm of your hand.”

“And who would deny a king?” His fingers searched for her own in turn, wrapped around them with weight and he held on with more than just his grip. Claude felt himself hushing promises against her skin, the kind that lovers would weave to stop someone from leaving them behind.

“Think about it. One small trick and you can stay all night. I promise to take good care of you, and I'm your shoulder if you need one to cry on. That sounds fair, doesn't it?”

His question lingered with his lips, and she felt the need to squirm away and shut him down, lest the hole where a heart should be could swallow her whole. Yet she just sighed, and relaxed against his form, lips forming sentences but not speaking them aloud.

It was an easy wish to fall into, a small whirlwind of untold tales that history would never get a whiff of. It could hunt her scent and shoot her down, strip her secrets from her like a hunter would a deer's pelt, and then it could display her and all the stories that ended abruptly like antlers. But this. This was something she wasn't eager to share with the world, and yet part of her demanded that it was a story that needed to be heard.

Because it spoke of union and understanding. She could wield trust in her hand like a sword and pierce the hatred out of people. If she were eager to become more than a queen on a chess board, then she could rule with a king.

It was a shame that the glimmer of divinity in her was so eager to take that choice away from her, further and further each day. And yet it was that holy touch which had allowed her to meet him in the first place. Could she condemn it then?

“You never play fair, Claude", was what she hushed in the night. It went pitter-patter, up and down, and tasted akin to a fresh morning after rain.

Her words wormed their way across his chest, constricted his breathing. “It's a tactic that always worked out.”

When he turned her around to stare at her half-dressed form, his smile fell. Now his fingers travelled over her skin to leave a trail of uncertainty behind, and his eyes lacked that familiar spark of long-winded plans. He spoke politics with his lips when the rest of him was numb with emotions. “I don't plan to rob you of your country.”

“I know that.” She shushed him with a kiss, ghostly warm on his lips. There it was again, that taste of something that the dawn had touched. She was morning dew stealing from a man basking in the afternoon sun of his life. “You simply care too much.”

He chuckled as he moved away from her to grab the fine fabric weaved into a beautiful dress that put her into a position of both power and made her prisoner of it. When he stood back in front of her, the gown carefully held up by calloused hands, he inclined his head in such a way that she knew to raise her arms.

Once she was hidden from the view of the world, the gown halfway draped over her body, he moved to talk more. He was good at hiding facial expressions behind trivial problems in life such as this, always eager to seek the next out as if it were a hiding spot for his smiles.

But she knew his voice well enough to be certain that he wasn't grinning. “A teach of mine taught me that, once.”

“What did she teach you?” Byleth’s voice was halfway swallowed by the fabric, and as she tugged the dress down to be able to feel the gown hug her form again, her head peeked out from beneath the crumpled folds.

He pressed a kiss to her lips to silence her, smile yet again in place, plastered onto his features as if he were made from stone. “To care. I was an awfully untrusting sort, you know? But you made the Golden Deer into a family, and not just a bunch of misfits. Me most of all. I cared about changing the world for my sake, my ego, my what-have-you.”

His hands travelled downwards to smooth out the dress, all the while he kept on talking. “I was too weak for Almyra and a brute for Fódlan. And then you brought us together, and then you were gone for five years and I realised that changing the world meant changing it for its people. For _everyone_.”

His laugh was a hollow little sound with a rumble of love underneath, a bit vague like thunder, and Byleth felt relieve upon seeing a storm of ambition in his eyes and not one of lost opportunities.

“For _you_, too. If – when – you came back, I wanted you to see what I could do. What I had already done. I guess that’s why I need you to support me, now, too, without all the terrible politics talks.”

A sigh, then and Claude kept her in his grip, thumbs rubbing circles along her hips as if they could soothe him better than her.

“But! I am a grown man. And I realise that politics are kinda, sorta part of the deal, here. And I will not force you with puppy dog eyes to support my cause just because we happen to be more than allies.”

When he put one of his hands to her shoulders to steer her in a small circle, his steps followed in a melodic rhythm. As they lacked music only the mild sounds of rain outside could draw near, and he wondered when it had started to do so, as his mind had been occupied with her instead. The dance that he led them into was almost childish, boyish really, something that was put forth without much effort but a lot of genuine motions.

It reminded her of that one ball they managed to enjoy, all those years ago, when he still had been little more than a scheming boy, eager to drag her out of her comfort zone. Now, she simply led herself be carried by his current, no matter how unfitting their forlorn little dance must have looked to outsiders, of which there were none.

“But please, Byleth, do stay, won’t you?”

She moved to grip onto him, stared at his naked torso and clothed legs and laughed, just softly. The braid at the back of her head held on, strong, and she did not have to touch it to know that he had braided it in such a way that even with her dress now on it still looked perfect. Little else about their situation did, however, and her eyes flitted across the arsenal of scars, both big and small, that she had not been able to avoid him from wearing like prized possessions.

“They already suspect me of bedding almyran royalty.”

Claude cocked his head to the side. “Well, they aren’t wrong, really.”

“I…should not encourage them, I suppose.” She drew her lips into a thin line. “Who knows what the fallout might be.”

“If that is your will, then I suppose I lose this round. Don’t worry, Byleth, I’ll get you to stay eventually. Might take me twenty more years, though.”

With a wink, and as easily as he had grabbed her to hold her close, he let her go. She was unsure if his grin was real or fake, but then it could be both, and she could be always non the wiser. What he did leave her with was a quick kiss to her cheek, and a hug that followed which made his heartbeat all the more real to her. After, he turned around to fetch his shirt, and lazily pulled his arms through. His back remained turned to her.

“Do close the door, Byleth.”

She nodded, aware that he could not see it, squeezed his shoulder once, and gathered her courage to step out into the night, after she had stared at her reflection in the mirror one last time and fetched her headpiece.

The door took her will on the way out, and left it with Claude. She let her touch linger against the wood for a while, to find the strength in herself to pose as a leader once more. Within her, the Goddess yet rested, and that should be enough to paint her as pure, her mind not muddled with thoughts of a sinful nature.

Still, she knew less of rest than any other, and maybe a bit too much of yearning. The grass was less green in other pastures, there where the people prayed to the stars more than her, and yet more in tune with nature. It was a country weaved with wings and wonder, and no book, leather-bound or otherwise, could ever describe it accurately to her. Because it harboured home, and home was just a room away, and yet it seemed vaster than any ocean, but still she could drown in it.

If she dared to grow roots there, she wondered if they could travel to Almyra, and let the people reap the labour of her love. Claude was already akin to everything that flowers touched, he had let countries blossom under his rule. What was one more unassuming weed amongst the fields?

The oak shrieked with the force that she used to crack it wide open, ghostly wails of a dead tree that welcomed her back inside with surprise etched into its features. She let her gaze fall upon it, and the way her hand cradled the handle like a snapped neck. Something broke, somewhere. There where her duty was ingrained in her, welded like iron and pressed to her mouth so she would swallow the metal like blood. She had cast away enough of herself for the world. It should be honoured to be forcibly split open for her.

“May I stay?” What was a question resounded like a statement given form. It yielded to her pressure, and she grit it out between teeth, hard and heavy.

“I demand it, really.”

Claude rose from his seat at the desk, where his books, keepsakes and historical novels rested. The journal he had been reading lay open still, and as she peeked inside the room, she could make out a feather dipped in fresh ink, the blue beginning to stain the wood underneath. He seemed to care little for such trivialities as he made his way over to her, mouth drawn into a line that did not quite know what it wanted to become.

“The door handle isn't trying to bite you, Byleth", is what he settled on at last, with his tell-tale laugh bubbling up from inside of him.

“Ah.” She stopped clutching it like a lifeline she had to strangle then, and stepped back into the room, mouth restless as she talked. “I wanted to...talk. More. But I never did this before – letting my duties lay – and maybe they will find out about...us. And I'm not sure if that's bad, or good, or horrifying anymore, really.”

Claude nodded, in that peculiar way which he used whenever he wanted to congratulate himself for a fantastic idea. It could seem arrogant to some, she supposed, but to her it was an endearing feature of his. Because it meant he was certain of something, and few things were for certain these days.

“I suppose – know, really – that it's all of that together. It depends on the person. However deep that Goddess rests inside of you, she should know that as well.” His steady breath rose to blow strands of tousled locks out of his way, and he let his hand comb through his hair as his tired gaze focused on her. “I can't let my dreams give me nightmares, Byleth. And neither should you.” 

Byleth stared at his crow feet and the shadows under his eyes that were as dark as a raven's feathers, noting that he had buttoned up his shirt in the time he was away but did not care about the state of the room as a whole. Then she looked back at the journal, and the splotches of ink that dated today's entry. She turned back around and lifted her finger to his cheek to rub some warmth into him, and the blue stain of ink out of his skin. “They would do well to let you sleep more, though.”

“Not with you around, I won't”, he smirked.

When she recoiled it was to stare at the rubbed off colour that now coated her finger in that same royal hue. It reminded her eerily of cold lands and feral animals, of snow and long since covered footsteps. She went around him, to the desk that was waiting on shouldering his nightly woes for him.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

When she stared into his journal – a diary, really, far removed from idle political talk – she quietly picked it up. That she could do so without him trying his best to nab it from her was a carefully practiced trust, build upon countless hardships and a sea full of graves. Byleth let her eyes sink to the pages and took in the words like water.

She knew he let her do so because she only reached for it when she was drowning. And it helped to read his thoughts because most often he wasn't quite open about them, not in the same way he was on paper. Reading out what fears he harboured was a sure way for her to understand his plight, and so he indulged her, because sometimes she would look at his easy smiles and count out how long they lasted, and often she would stare at him as if they had grown apart in the time that was demanded from them, but always would she have the patience to try to understand.

She read his entries like notes from her students, quips and questions about young fears, and most often she could erase the worry that had been written down with a quill with a kiss after. If he ever denied her asking to read them, she harboured his wish, and would not press the issue further.

But he allowed her to do so, this time, and so she cradled the tattered little thing like a new-born.

* * *

_“It is late, and she left. I seldom describe her, because her Father did such plenty, and it takes away from her charm. It is my belief that the more I keep her in my mind and not these pages, the more the world will have to wonder in the future. Why should it get to know her the way I do? For it she is a tool, and I am the fool that put her there. _

_She cried tonight. And I braided her hair. I am none the wiser when it comes to her fears, but I keep my wit with me, and it dictates that she is afraid of...maybe everything. The past, perhaps. The present, most likely. The future, definitely. _

_I suppose tomorrow will bring answers, of which…”_

* * *

The written words ended there, and she made out a splotch of ink that must have dropped to the pages when he heard the door open once more. With a weary smile she laid his journal back down.

“The blue is nice", she muttered after, just to swallow up the silence. “It comes from Faerghus, does it not? The best ink imported directly from a place of royalty. Do you think Dimitri used such ink once in his life?”

“Perhaps.” He had made his way over to her during her quieting thoughts, and was now resting behind her, draped lazily over her shoulders to stare at the words he had written. “Dimitri played the role of royalty well. I'm sure he always had the best things at hand, when he didn't break them.”

She thanked him silently for indulging her nonsensical words that had nothing to do with the lines he had written. But it calmed her, that small talk about past questions that would never truly get future answers. “Write me a letter with that ink before you return to Almyra, yes?”

She remembered the first time she had sent him a letter. They came upon the idea first to keep up political ideals across borders, but then their writing had become more intimate. It was what he gave her instead of his journal entries, for those rested with him, and such a resting place was seldom beside her. So written lines directed at her personally had to do, and most often those were full of secret musings that only she knew to decode. They mentioned political affairs where none existed, spoke of treaties that were just vague enough to have no one raise an eyebrow should they come upon them, and only ever referred to her as ‘friend’ or ‘ally'.

She had read countless versions of his parting words.

* * *

_ “Forever in your support, _

_The country of Almyra” _

* * *

_“Your eternal ally,_

_The Almyran King" _

* * *

_“Your loyal friend,_

_Claude von Riegan"_

* * *

She yet yearned to read one that called her his _lover_, despite never speaking the word openly before the world.

Claude hummed behind her, once more occupied with her braided hair. “If you’d like one, then yeah. I guess I could indulge you.”

“I gift you one in return before you leave”, she muttered.

Her thumb brushed over the dried words in his journal, and she picked up the quill to put it back into the ink. The feather drank the colour eagerly, and she was glad to write with something else than a sword and blood these days. After, she picked it up, and scribbled a heart into a corner of the page. His beat rapidly behind her, and sounded louder and stronger once his eyes had taken in the small token of affection she had granted him. Claude pressed her to himself, then, let his fingers steal the quill from her to draw an arrow into the drawing.

It was a crooked little thing, that masterpiece of theirs. Written on old pages with new ink and stains that would not wash out. But it was perfect, to her. To him, too, as he demonstrated with a laugh that ringed more heartily than most.

“I should get back to that journal entry”, he whispered into her ear after they had both just marvelled at the heart and arrow for a while. “You can watch, if you’d like.”

Byleth gave her confirmation with a small nod, and shortly after he sat back down in his chair, patting his lap to encourage her to join him. She did so carefully, sideways, drew her braid back so it would not get in his way, and watched with curiosity as he let his arm snake around her to be able to reach the pages.

Watching him write was a mesmerising activity, one that needed neither music nor talking to bring her comfort. He would bite his lip when he tried to find a particular word in the depths of his mind, and she wondered sometimes if he confused Fódlan words for Almyran ones, because he would stop mid-sentence and scratch the back of his head, deep in thought.

Sometimes, Byleth mused, he’d bring the quill up to his cheek, and scratch at it with a free finger. Whenever he did, a drop of blue or a streak of it would stain his otherwise clean skin, and rarely some would even get into his beard. It overwrote the grey in it and looked comically endearing even in the dimness of the candle lights.

She knew better than to disturb his concentration, however, and made do with quiet giggling.

“Something funny”, he inclined to ask, and she just put a finger to her lips in an attempt to get him to notice. He kissed them instead, featherlight and airy, and she smiled even more, and laughed even harder. “Your lips. There’s ink, there.”

“Ah.” His eyes twinkled, and then his index finger brushed against the tip of the quill, only to find her nose right after. When she stared at the tip of it, she could find the clear blue drop in the middle of her vision.

She stopped then, and, thoroughly amused, he continued with writing. The scratching sound cut words into her mind, sharp and soft all at once. Perhaps they could make a routine out of this, if she allowed herself to indulge in more of his time. Would that mean she would steal it away from others? Everyone seemed to need him, these days.

“I could get used to this, you know”, he hummed lowly. Somewhere between the passing seconds a smile had sneaked itself onto his lips and wouldn’t let go, and it was half a battle not to kiss it onto her own.

His appreciation of the action made her ashen demons’ recoil in the candlelight. She lost against that desire, and claimed his lips with her own, just for a moment. After, she nuzzled his nose with her own, and grinned once she saw that the ink had transferred partly. Now, they both looked like utter fools.

A simple roll of the eyes and a shake of the head, and then Claude finished writing.

Once he had put the quill down Byleth searched for the words on the pages, but paused, and turned her attention to him instead.

There was yet something she needed to discuss, and it needed to happen quick, or he would gain the upper hand the moment the sun would rise for a new dawn. It worried her, to bring politics into this, because it was unworthy of their shared time, and yet she knew better with all the hold that the word duty had on her. No matter how much she prayed, she would perhaps never be able to cast it fully away.

So, she levelled her voice, and started talking. “You always appreciated seeing things in a different light, Claude.”

“True enough. What are you implying, huh?” He raised an eyebrow in curiosity, all enthusiasm forgotten when he saw her stiff facial expression.

Byleth made to put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed once, the way he would if he needed to calm her down. “I've got something to offer you. All fair and square.”

He rubbed the hand with his own, held onto it after, face scrunched up in thought. “Sheesh, sounds plenty boring so far. But go on.”

Byleth sighed, once. Sat up straighter than was necessary, as though her place on his lap was in any way a refined form of sitting in the first place. Then she levelled his gaze with her own, and before him sat the leader of Fódlan, in the middle of the night, with ink stains and battle scars, and no name to herself but her own. And yet she encompassed all the roles she harboured outside of their sanctuary.

“Considering you left me no choice to gather my thoughts when you sprung your _request _on me, I have an impulsive challenge for you.”

Claude tried to make light of the situation, sending her an easy smile that could never reach his eyes, but tried to, in the same way his younger self had meant to rile her up. “Is that something like you did as Teach? You trying to get me to be a good boy, Byleth?”

“I just want you to behave.” For a moment, he swore he could see the teacher in her come to life, and she gave him back one of those rare grins that she had reserved for all the times he had planned schemes but bartered with her for the promise of playing fair.

He took advantage of it – and winked. “Ah, playing nice, huh? I could do that - what's the reward? I'm not a teen anymore, a kiss on the cheek won't cut it.”

He got her. Could see it in the way her eyes widened, and she looked deliciously unskilled in the way she squirmed on top of him, cheeks aflame in anger and embarrassment. “I never-"

“Oh! Must have been a dream of mine, then.” His smile was as smug as it was shocked, a unique mixture of former horror and shameless admittance. Part of it was all an act, of course. The other was the willingness to let her see a side of him he had not disclosed before.

But this time, Byleth did not buy his easy schemes. “You want pieces of Fódlan. I want an alternative solution. Are you following me so far?”

“Do I need to take notes? Will that be on the test?” A laugh, and then he held up his hands in defence. “I kid, I kid. Of course I am.”

“Here's the deal: Whoever kills the golden stag during the hunt tomorrow gets to have their wish granted.”

Claude cocked his head to the side in confusion. Then he tried to analyse every single word she had said, his eyes stuck on her lips that wouldn’t say any more. Eventually he settled on playing with her braid some more to overplay his worry and wondered aloud.

“So what? Are you saying if I slay the stag, I win? You give up parts of your land _just because I killed an animal?” _

“Correct. But if I win, you yield to _me_.”

He was yet confused, despite her strict expression. Then the king in him came out, repressed the man that had his lover on his lap, and he let her braid fall and crossed his arms in front of his chest. She watched as the political nature in him won over, banned his eager love for her away, and her stomach coiled in numbness. Only the soft stare of his eyes let her know that he didn’t mean for his words to bite as much as they did. They tore into her skin despite it all, and she welcomed the kiss that he pressed to her neck right after, as if to soothe a pain he had caused physically.

“You would use a hunt in my name to _further your own goals_?”

His beard tickled, and his voice stung. She pressed him away to kiss his collarbone and busied herself by playing with the buttons of his shirt. When she had opened one the flesh was already bruised, and she lapped at it to hide the soft stinging sensation away. She made to draw sounds from his throat, but Claude remained poignantly silent, though she felt the strain through the vibrations that went through his body. The next words were harsh, but breathed against his skin, and she felt him and his puzzled nature stiffen in shock.

“You used me in a war I had no choice in. I'd say it makes us a little more even.”

Her hands made to grab the journal he had finished writing in, and only once she had it safely secure in her fingers did she recoil. Claude blinked up at her, but she paid him no mind, and read the rest of his words that were meant for her but never truly. All so her patience would not snap and cause her to want to rise from the warmth that he provided.

A warmth that seemed to coat his cheeks in the most handsome shade of pink she had ever encountered, and yet she assigned it to his anger, until she took in what he had written.

* * *

_“I suppose tomorrow will bring answers, of which…I have many an idea. She watches me write, now, and that is perhaps the sweetest pain a man like myself could know. I see her stare at me from the corner of my eyes, and she watches like an eagle and analyses me like a lion, and I want to pepper her with more kisses, and it makes my patience run dry._

_I wonder if she notices that I cannot think straight and that I am usually much more cunning in the way I write. I wonder if she can tell that I cannot find the right words because I want to taste her again, but I planned to write this entry, and she rarely looks as peaceful as she does now._

_Scratching my head does nothing to rid myself of the thoughts that she would look much more pleasant without her robes, but I promised that I would not do such sinful things to her, because I adore her much more with a smile, and tears do not suit her._

_She smiles freely when I paint my skin with blue, and I want her to look at every part of me, so I am more than pleased with looking like a jester. And if I just happen to stain my lips blue…_

_Ah, it worked! You are a clever schemer, despite it all, Claude von Riegan. She looks positively adorable with her nose all blue, but I bet she’ll kill me if she ever reads this, which she will. I do not particularly mind, I would die a happy man!_

_…so if you read this, do note that I would not love anything more than for you to continue sitting in my lap._

_Stay there, please._

_No matter what you say next. _➳♥_”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is quite smaller than the last, it doesn't even reach 6k, but it serves as a tie-in, and I hope you appreciate it despite the shorter length!  
The next Chapter will be the usual size again and deal with the hunt, finally. =3


	6. Beds and Bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pillows are thrown and plans are thrown into action.

She was not sure about the phenomenon known as immortality, never had the heart to put into the concept of living forever. Yet the night passed on without her moving, and supposedly that could be considered the smallest of eternities.

When she woke, she found herself wrapped in a bundle of sheets and between two strong arms that held her close for comfort, never too strong, ever steady. The breath at her back was a low hum, born from pleasant dreams no doubt. She wondered what Claude would consider important enough for his subconscious to bring it up in this contrast of the waking world.

Byleth rarely dreamed.

When she did it was eldritch abominations and world domination of the gruesome kind. Nightmares that bared teeth and ripped those close to her apart, and she had lost count how often Jeralt had perished in her sleeping echoes. She wished for them to grow distant, ever further, yet instead they shouted until she woke from them.

The war claimed each night she was alone, and sometimes she wondered whether she had lost altogether. She would see broken bones and frazzled flesh and no smooth skin, just blood. The fact that she knew intimately which vein or artery would seep the most gave no comfort, it simply made the mind games more real. In dreams, Claude would breathe red instead of blue, would coat the ground with it instead of staring at the rising dawn.

She knew exactly how many times he had died under her care, had kept a diary with all the horrific details. Time of death, cause of perishing. How many wounds, how deep, how long until the last breath was taken.

What she never wrote down was how much she cried – no one had to know about that.  
When Byleth turned around to stare into his resting face she let a hand fall to his cheek. It was warm, trembled with the calm serenity of sleep, just softly hidden under a mop of tousled locks that never fell into his face unless he let them. He would often wake when she did this, when she caressed him with all the fragility of an old soul, but the bags under his eyes, born from exhaustion, gave her all the reasons why he wouldn't do so this time.

An arrow had hit him there, once. Pierced his fragile flesh on both sides, and then a second one had claimed his neck. She caressed the spot at the nape and drew small circles into his skin. Remembered then how he had tried to scream but only a gurgling sound born from drowning in blood came out.

He had not even been _eighteen_ back then.

Byleth stirred in his arms, shuddered even, and pressed close to his chest. A chest that had heaved with heavy breaths too many times, and when she huddled ever closer, she could feel his steady heartbeat. Something akin to a ticking clock, and as clockwork ought to do it ran just fine. Despite the grey in his hair, despite the memories that seemed to cling to his skin though he was none the wiser, despite all the times it had stopped working.

When she let her fingers comb through his chest hair, she tried to forfeit the moments in her mind that showed it to her in singed form, with burn marks all over his body and the stench of smoke in her nose. The memory crawled up her form, deep into her pores, and stayed there. She let her face press against his neck and breathed in his scent like cologne, everything to get the stinky aroma of ash away from her.

Claude was herbs and harmony, and she revelled in the smell of foreign lands as if she could be there. A hint of sweat yet clung to him, but it had dried and reminded her of well fought battles, not desolate losses. So he could be musk and spice and everything in-between, as long as he was himself. Not the incense of metal and flames, and whatever weapon that could be forged in it.

Still, she needed the reminder. Let her fingertips ghost over his arms and muscles, and whatever else she could get her hands on. His hair. His beard. His lips. When she kissed him, he stirred, and woke with the harbinger of sleep in his eyes.

It took him but a moment to blink it away and greet her with a grin. And what a grin it was – smug and smothering, and it pressed into her form, claimed the spot of her that she had kissed raw on him the night before, as though he wanted her to match him. Her eyes flitted over to the fleck of purple that coated his own skin, and she hummed, and tried to cast her waking nightmares away.

“Good mornin’”, was whispered against her flesh, and she shuddered from his voice that yet seemed guttural and primal in ways that only the half-awoken could produce.

“How long has it been that we’ve awoken in the same bed, huh?” He began to nuzzle her nose in an almost comical way, then let his arms drag her to him quite possessively. “Not letting you go, nuh-uh.”

If he could feel her inner anxieties, he chose to not speak of them. Whether that was a blessing in disguise or not she couldn’t tell, yet she had promised him to speak about what troubled her this very day, and maybe he knew better than to press her for it. It was a mighty special treat to hold the trust of the King of Almyra in your heart, after all. She would not dare to misuse it.

Byleth exhaled harshly, just to steady whatever nerves still escaped her will. “You’re awake.”

“Seems so, yes. Or I’m dreaming, still. Would be a great dream, I’ll have you know.” He squeezed her once, then let his head rest in the crook of her neck. When he spoke, it vibrated against her in small flutters. “I’m a light sleeper, usually.”

The small talk helped, somewhat. It etched the hint of a smile onto her lips, and when he looked at her again it made his own grin broaden significantly. Byleth pointed to the circles under his eyes, there where his crow feet rested. “You don’t look as exhausted anymore.”

“Sleeping in your arms does that to a man.”

He was just smug to a fault, but she couldn’t _fault_ him for it. So, she simply grumbled, hid the blush that started to threaten her composure – and made her cheeks seven shades of pink – and hit him lightly on the chest. He shot her a mockingly hurt expression after and winced in obviously non-existent pain.

“It was a compliment, Byleth! Cull your Ashen Demon ways!” He stuck his tongue out, then, and in the morning glow he looked yet young. “Otherwise I have to retreat! And then you are all alone in this bed.”

“Would mean more space for me.”

Still feigning hurt he rose from the bed. Then he stretched, taut muscles meant to be shown off at the edge of dawn, and she rolled over to claim more of the prized possession she had so hardly fought for. Her mind was free, and fun, and feisty, and she watched with interest how the man before her greeted the new morning half naked and fully prepared.

“Like what you see, huh?” He glanced over, yet in a position that screamed “show off”.  
Byleth hummed in content after and stared just a second too long to fool her mind it was simple curiosity or love that claimed her attention. Part of it was also making sure nothing was out of the ordinary – no new scar, no open wound. But she found none, and that was re-assurance enough.

“Well”, he started, and made his way over, a bit predator-like, as though he knew things she didn’t. When he had reached the side of the bed once more, her still looking up at him inquisitively, he took hold of the edge of the blanket – and tugged it right off her body. “Rise and shine, Byleth.”

Naturally, it was a blank stare of death that followed, trained on him as though she had daggers for eyes. Bad idea. Claude recoiled thereafter and held the blanket up like a shield, arms up, head safely hidden behind. Noticing that that was a relatively deadly idea, though, he soon let his arms fall again, and simply decided on holding the fabric with one hand while the other wanted to keep her at a distance.

She threw a pillow, hit him square in the face – because of course it would – and stood up herself. Byleth was yet in most of her garbs, and all of those were wrinkled, but she could care less. Instead, she sauntered over to her victim, and poked him into his chest, deep enough to make a point.

“You would not stand a chance in a “pillow fight”, not even now, Claude.”

When he held up his hands in defence, loosing the blanket in the process, she stood onto her toes and pressed a peck to his cheek. “You’d be wise to memorise that.”

She turned away from him after and made her way over to the mirror to assess the damage that had befallen her braid. To her surprise, it still held well, and looked nice enough that she could probably wear it for one more day. Not that she was certainly concerned with the style of her hair, but most other people seemed to bother with her locks on the daily.

A moment later, a whistle rang out from behind her. Thinking back to all the times such sounds had meant incoming danger she ducked reflexively, and the pillow that was aimed straight at her hit the mirror behind her instead. After, a sigh resounded, and she giggled softly upon her newfound second victory. “I told you so, Claude.”

And she turned around – only for a second pillow to fluff up against her face, with Claude still holding onto it. Like a lifeline, perhaps. As long as he had it in his hands, she couldn’t breach his defences. “Heh. Let’s call it a stalemate, By.”

With a muffled voice, she offered her reply. “If you promise to take that away from me, then yes, I agree to a temporary truce.”

“Awesome.” And he honoured her request, of course. Upon seeing him up in her face once more, she simply shook her head, scratched his beard for a second, then moved on to smooth out her clothes well enough so that people would not suspect anything.

Not that she could hide from the fact that her maids would notice her not resting in her own bed. But maybe they would understand. Perhaps. The chance was slim. It was much more beneficial to simply concoct a scheme, and she knew just the person for such honorary plans.

“Claude, what do I tell Seteth and everyone else?”

He paused in what she presumed to be him putting on a shirt, as when she glanced over she could see him sporting a fresh one that hung loose from his body, and his hands were busying himself with a fresh pair of pants that had already claimed one of his legs.

He grinned, a bit self-serving. “Dunno. That you were with me, perhaps?”

“That’s not an option, unless-“ A headshake, and she went back to a more neutral tone of speaking. “That is not an option.”

He seemed a tad dejected but moved on to get dressed as quick as a wyvern. In-between buttoning his shirt she heard him reply, and his attention yet seemed fully on her, which caused him trouble with the plan of properly putting on clothes, visibly. “You could use Flayn as a distraction, then. She’s already on board with all of this. Well, ah, with what she knows we did. Which is, of course, not all that we actually…did.”

Byleth nodded, then, upon finding herself looking as prim and proper as she could hope to be and turned around to fully face Claude. She would have to get into her hunting garb before the hunt started, but as of yet the real woe was leaving his room unseen.

Which meant going out through his door, into the hallway where the other nobles stayed, and then into Garreg Mach’s wide inner machinations which, hopefully, did not harbour a noisy Hilda or two on such a fine morning.

“Is it safe?” She eyed the door with what could only be described as fear, and Byleth never showed signs of such, so Claude fell into an easy round of laughter.

“Really? A _door_ bests the Archbishop, Queen of all of Fódlan, former Teach of the King of Almyra?” With a raised eyebrow he skipped over to the old wood and let his hand rest on the handle.

“Not a door. The people that might be outside – and they don't best me.” With the ease of knowing where to position herself on a battlefield she slinked back into the shadows of the room. “But they might find out about...us.”

“Ah.” He fell silent then, despite wishing to say more. When the door opened, it did so with an unsatisfying creak, and Byleth grinded her teeth together. Claude stuck his head out almost comically, then gave her a thumbs up as an okay. “Everything’s clear.”

She sighed in relief, then dragged her body over in much the same way she would have done had they been staking out the grounds of enemy territory. Yet it was the situation itself, not Byleth handling it all like a tactical manoeuvre, that made him feel much younger again.

Standing in between the frame that separated his room from the rest of the world was a daring endeavour, and his eyes flitted about in search of anyone who could endanger their short lived peace. When he still found none she visibly relaxed, and, knowing he would continue to look out for the both of them, gave him her full attention.

“Remember the first time I had to sneak you out like this?” His grin was radiant, and quite proud. He wore it with vigour, and squeezed her to his side. When he spoke, it was with the hunger of long gone nights. “Your hair was messier back then.”

Claude stared into her eyes, eager to let the moment linger, and she reached out and stroked his chin, the beard there scruffy and well loved but groomed to perfection. When she thought back to sun-hugged nights in Almyra her stomach dared to poke daggers into the place where troubled feelings rested, and it drew a smile upon her lips despite her wish to fight against the easy scheme that he had planned. He grabbed her braid carefully, tugged her near to him then, and she gasped but made to slither free. After, she stated facts instead of wishes. “Your beard was shorter.”

Byleth refused to voice that his hair had been much lusher, for even Almyran Kings could not stand the test of time forever. Or that back then, fewer lines had carved through his face. Nowadays, Claude resembled an often read map, a bit tattered and frayed at the edges, and yet no other could compare. Each crease meant a memory, and if she could steal more of his time away then that was worth more than any freshly painted place of belonging.

He was home. In all the ways he united Fódlan and the places that he had carved out for freedom. She could stare all day at him and find more details, locations that were yet unknown to the world. Those areas she would not name, because they belonged on no piece of parchment.

For now, however, home had to be left behind for duty once more. Her hands found his and intertwined their fingers before she pressed a last kiss onto his skin, there were her lips had lingered too long before. The soft whimper this claimed from him gave her pause, and she drew away with the intent to stay but knowing better than to tempt fate itself.

“I see you at the hunt. Remember my conditions, Claude.”

A wink, and Claude closed the door behind her with nothing but a parting gift of a smile on his lips.

“I’d never forget them. But don’t expect a fair fight, Byleth. I'm an eager schemer, I'll have you know.”

A small thud was all the sound she heard as the irritated oak shut. She nodded to herself to right her nerves, gaze trained on every nook and cranny her eyes could spy, before she felt the situation to be calm enough to move on.

If anyone were to find her now she could simply reflect by citing opinions and plans needed for the upcoming hunt, and no one would be ever the wiser that her true interest rested in the lap of a king, rather than in front of a war or tea table. She could sleep best in front of half written journal entries, though life dedicated most of her time to the exhaustion from plans in front of treaties and threats.

Rounding the corner that brought her away from the terror of suspicion lifted a weight off of her shoulders, and yet laid a new one on them all the same. Now, she had to function according to her role again, and although Garreg Mach honoured her in a much more homely way than Derdriu ever did, it was still a far cry from the eager inquiries her students would have had for her.

Suddenly, a high-pitched squeal resounded in the hall, and Byleth felt a stare more radiant than the sun burn a hole into the back of her head. She had thought she had been careful enough to avoid people in the hallway, yet evidently, that wasn’t the case.

“Soo~, I see you had a good night. A _very_ good night, perhaps?” Swaying her hips and swinging around her as though she was a planet to orbit was Hilda, now sliding up to her akin to a purring cat.

“I'll have you know that Lorenz thought the two of you were truly furious at one another, though evidently you seem to know quite some ways to _make up_, do you not?” She pointed to her own braided pigtails, a behaviour she had picked up only recently, and then to Byleth's own hair. “The braid is nice, I’ll let him know he should do that more often.”

“Hilda!” It came out in shock, the wave of it marred with anger. “Could you be any more obvious?”

“No one saw you, if that is what you are wondering.” The woman almost jumped in delight, but knew too much etiquette to truly lose herself to gossip. Lorenz must have had some form of influence on her, yet it made neither of them any less obnoxious. It did not stop her from laying a hand upon Byleth's shoulder, at any rate, the grip much stronger than her feminine looks would betray.

“Well, no one but Lorenz and I on our way back to our room last night. A stargazing stroll, huh?” Hilda, making sure that no one was within earshot, steered Byleth to a quiet corner, her fingernails yet digging into the embroidered Archbishop's robes. She wielded the finely manicured claws like miniscule axes, and her questions were sharp and to the point. “You owe me some tea spilled, I'll have you know. Tell a girl how good he was and I _might_ consider my curiosity to be sated.”

Byleth grew paler than her bleached hair, and tugged at the strands of her braid passively. Her expression yet remained blank, but her voice betrayed her, tagging along akin to a broken string on a fiddle. She refused to be played. “I don't think-"

“Please, Byleth", Hilda started, eyelashes full and aflutter, her look of manipulation so fine tuned it could put her younger self to shame, “I have a stake in all of this. Help a friend out?”

“What did you do...?”

“Well, suppose Lorenz and I made a bet that you and Claude would..._you know_. ‘Rekindle your passionate love affair.’ If I have to describe it in Lorenz' words.” A toothy grin spread across her face, giving radiance to the painted on blush on her cheeks. Hilda made to grab the braid yet resting in Byleth's hands, and tugged on it once she felt it between her fingertips. “Naturally, he bet against it. I, on the other hand, was all for it. I _know_ what girls like, I'll have you know, and I have known you for years. I _so_ understand what you are into.”

Byleth gulped, the action smooth and slippery. She meant to scratch a place near her collar, but could feel the piercing hurt of Hilda's intense gaze stab into her neck the moment the fabric shifted. The blue visible spot spoke not of royal blood but royal bonding, and Byleth made to right the cloth despite the eager embarrassment that settled onto her skin.

“That shall do just fine", purred Hilda, smile now cheshire-esque and predatory. “Once we show that to Lorenz I definitely-"

“If you value your life, then you won't.” The words dripped ice in the cold morning chill, and as if on cue the wind howled through the halls, bringing with it whispers to praise ashen ways with demonic chants. Or perhaps it was simply nature taking pity on her.

Hilda coughed into her hand, removing her fingernails like a cat that pulled in its claws. “Well, I won either way. I shall treat you to a banquet when the hunt is done.”

“Was that your...prize?”

“That and an entire spa day. A day off, if you will, with no royal duties of any kind. Just Hilda and her friends doing whatever I shall want. Marianne and the rest of the ladies are invited as well, of course.” She clapped her hands together with glee. “Ignatz and her should arrive today. Ahh, isn't that exciting Byleth?”

“Ah, it is...typical for you, Hilda.” She forced a tiny hint of a smile onto her lips, and it stuck there and wouldn't leave after. “You hardly changed at all.”

“Maybe in subtle ways", Hilda mused. “For your ah, _cooperation_ in helping me secure victory, can I help with anything for the hunt? As long as it is not hard work, of course. You wouldn't do that to me, would you?”

Byleth welcomed the change of topic, and felt her shoulders relax under her royal robes. Discussing the upcoming event was a talk that could, most of all, serve her well in securing allies. She was sure that Claude would ease into the role of a troublemaker and attempt to rally supporters to his cause – but he would not get Hilda if she was faster.

So Byleth donned a rather sinister grin, one that betrayed a plan that could be plotted, and Hilda raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Such certainty was only visible on Byleth's face during moments of tactical warfare planned down to the last soldier. It did not suit her well, remained etched into her features and succumbed under the pressure of an intense gaze. Claude's tactical smiles were glamourous, Byleth's terrifying.

“You can certainly help me with _something_, Hilda.”

~☆~

Long after her discussion with Hilda had been finished Byleth found herself being dressed into garbs more efficient for a hunting activity, the leather pieces snug and tight against her, offset by shining metal armour in places that were in need of further protection. Truly most of it was for show, though a fitting outfit was important if one had to ride on a wyvern, and Byleth felt more comfortable on a pegasus’ back no matter how much she trusted the winged lizards.

Walking without a dress but rather a call-back to her glory days with tights and shorts felt like a most welcome change of pace, and it made walking easier and made her more human. With this she could run and fighting without tumbling or falling, and no one would bat an eye if she stained the fabric.

Running into Flayn after discussing a valid strategy with Hilda and wearing new clothes felt like a breath of fresh air meant to relax and throw her out of the area inside her mind dedicated to her mercenary ways. Flayn was happily eager and eagerly happy this morning, and carried a basket of Almyran bred flowers – all of them yellow – as well as a recently read book.

“Ah, I was oh so hoping that I would find you!” She skidded to a halt next to Byleth, and fluffed out her skirt after she had set down the flowers. The fragrance that wafted up and around them reminded Byleth faintly of marguerites and marigold. “You are undoubtedly befitting of wearing a braid. It makes me want to attempt to braid your hair myself!”

Byleth chuckled, if only lightly. Flayn had an aura about her that melted all tension away, and so wearing her hairstyle felt like a valid expression of herself, something that went beyond her. Not unlike a sword in her grasp to feel like an extension of her arms. And anyhow, the lie that she had told her maids was a short-lived little thing that would not creep up on her later.

“Thank you, Flayn. I ah, told Seteth it was you that made it, and that we stayed up together yesterday. You may attempt to do so in reality should you want, in the future. Maybe during tea time, yeah?”

“Oh you should not worry, I will not disclose your secrets. Brother shall believe we only indulged in activities for sweet maidens. And that sounds like a splendid idea!” She clutched the book in her grasp – keeping the cover title safely away from the view of onlookers – and reached it over hurriedly.

Her cheeks were tinged red, the colour travelling up towards the place where her ears were hidden. “The book we were talking about only yesterday. It is quite certainly ahhh...a lecture for maidens before bed, and not one to be read in the open. But it made my heart race!”

“What is it about, Flayn?” She hurriedly read the name of the novel. ‘A Heritage of Heartache'. It got the cheesy one-liner down, at least. Claude would do well not to smuggle as many romance books around, but then she was pretty sure he did it for the thrill more than anything else.

Flayn visibly got excited, to the point of swooning. “Oh, you shall love it! It is a harrowing tale about two young leaders from different countries that fall for each other, yet their royal duties keep them apart for long period of time!”

Well, that didn't sound familiar.

_At all._

“Uhu. Next you'll tell me the guy is a prince with a mysterious past who doesn't divulge that information to the girl, and after he asks for her hand in marriage he must return to right what's wrong in his own land.” Byleth's expression was deadpanned, stoic, and unamused.

Flayn took it in stride, though could soften her shocked stare only mildly. “How did you know?”

“I am, uh...”, she sighed. “Good at guessing.”

“It did remind me of your own- ah, I should not speak of it in the open, I suppose.” She giggled and picked the basket of flowers back up, before motioning towards the direction of the market. “Leonie and Raphael arrived earlier and were looking for you. It seems they brought wares and some mercenaries with them!”

“Thank you, Flayn.” Byleth took one of the flowers out and investigated it with a lingering interest. Definitely a lovely smell, and full of life. Garreg Mach would look utterly stunning with them reaching their necks into the sky to welcome the autumn elegance. “I shall read the book as soon as possible.”

She tugged the flower back, stored the book in the satchel attached to her hunting clothes, and waved Flayn goodbye, who returned the gesture in kind. As they went their separate ways the market of Garreg Mach came into view, a place already bumbling with the energy of tourists and troublemakers alike. Stray kittens ran between her feet to steal a fish that had fallen out of a fishing basket, just as a hound nabbed a piece of meat from an unsuspecting butcher.

Children and parents were up and about, looking at wares and buying sweet sticks of hardened honey and other candies brought over from Almyra. Byleth even found Cyril in-between the mass with Lysithea in tow, holding onto more than just a few bags of dessert and other delicacies, which was evident by the way Lysithea kept staring at them as though to chug it all down in one go. Yet they vanished in-between the mass of bodies before Byleth had the chance to offer a hello.

Even she seemed to drown in this activity, as stares were few and far between, as the folk was more concerned with enjoying the festivities rather than bothering the Archbishop and Queen of Fódlan. She went on looking for Raphael, and spotted a well-known mop of blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the people. Given his height and stature that was no wonder.

When she finally managed to squeeze through the bundle of buyers standing around a stand for almyran accessories – ranging from rings to necklaces – the burly man had already spotted her and charged at her with the strength of a bear. The hug that followed was just as animalistic and lifted her off of the ground.

“Byleth! It is good to see you again!” Raphael's voice roared with joy.

She struggled to find her breath, but choked out a hello all the same. “What's it been? Eight months? Since we last saw each other.”

“Nine, to be exact”, came a voice from behind her man-made prison. Leonie gestured with a nod to let Byleth down, and after Raphael had complied she stepped forward and softly hit her shoulder. The both of them had hardly changed, except for the age beginning to show from hard work and hardened bodies.

“It's way good seeing you in some actual clothes for once, not that Archbishop stuff they make you wear.”

“Yeah!” Raphael agreed. “Good stuff. Oh, I have to say, this festival is real nice so far. All that food? Even I can't eat all that!”

Leonie huffed in what was hopefully mock annoyance. “He says that, but he bought half the smoked almyran bovine sausage. And ate half of that in one day! The kiddos back home wanted some of that, too, but at this rate Raph's going to disappoint them another year in a row.”

“I make up for it with presents!”

Byleth laughed, quietly. It was a rumble that went through her, the sort of happiness one would only get after seeing old friends again. She smiled at the both of them in earnest, and gestured towards the open gates in the background. “Do you have time to watch the hunt? I'd love to see you there.”

Leonie pointed towards their stand with her thumb. “Raphael needs to stay here, but I'm free to take a look. Already told him we'd switch after a while so he can see you beat Claude's ass.”

“Don't shout that Leonie, he might listen!” Raphael turned around in shock, though relaxed visibly upon finding no almyran royalty strolling about.

“That's perfect, actually”, Byleth mused. “We have a bit of a bet going, so if you can bring me refreshments I'll make sure to reserve extra rounds of food for you at the feast later this week. Winner has to pay for it, after all, and losing isn't an option for me.”

“There's more to it than just a simply bet then, huh?” Leonie kicked up dirt with her boots, now intrigued but also worried by the prospect of fighting between the two.

Byleth nodded, face stern. “If I lose, parts of Fódlan will belong to Almyra for the time being.”

“He made you bet parts of our country!?” Leonie looked incredulous.

Raphael rubbed the back of his neck. “That is...bad, right?”

“I made the bet. Everything else would jeopardise our peace. This way I get a winning chance and neither of us has to face as much scrutiny. Dirty tactics are allowed, so here I am, scheming.”

“Well, you were always a quick thinker.” Leonie smiled just a little, gave her an encouraging tap on the shoulder, then turned to Raphael and waited for him to dip down far enough for her to kiss him. It looked slightly comical, though fitting, and the quick peck she kissed onto his lips happened to turn him into a broad grinning fool.

“I'll see you later then!” His smile could rival even the sun shining down, but then Byleth knew him as nothing but a life loving optimist. “We got your back! With muscles!”

“Until later, Raphael.”

~☆~

The hunting grounds right outside of Garreg Mach were a rich decorated place full of the hustle and bustle of posh nobility, and the dirt underneath their feet seemed to glimmer like gold, in part due to countless petals of the flowers Flayn had carried before. Golden ornaments and tents made from almyran fabric, rich in colour and history, stood tall as landmarks.

Here, the common folk simply rested on the side-lines, most of them waiting on banks of wood that had no right to seem so undeniably detailed. Clearly, the appearance mattered more than the comfort of the decorum, but then it was an event organised by the nobility.

Byleth would never be able to get behind that, but at least it made for a pretty view on a day like this. She moved over with Leonie in tow, towards the area shielded away from curious onlookers that kept the wyverns in open stables. Finding her own companion wasn't a difficult endeavour, as the old girl made a noise of startled joy upon viewing her.

She went over and put a hand up in greeting, which the wyvern took as an opportunity to nuzzle against it. Her scaly skin was yet smooth to the touch, despite the fact that compared to other wyverns – which were being tended to by their own riders – her own winged friend looked past her glory days.

Next to her, Barbarossa, in his striking white scales and bearing red tassels, looked on curiously. He seemed eager enough, yet visibly relaxed, as though nothing could face the animal. Leonie stood a small distance away, as she herself yet preferred to travel on horseback.

“She's Claude's old wyvern, right?” Leonie gestured towards Barbarossa and then fovcused on Byleth's own wyvern.

“Yes.” Byleth nodded. “He gifted her to me years ago – when he defended Fódlan, in fact. Said she'd remind me of him while he's gone, not that I ride her much.”

“Huh. You never told me about that. I'm glad that she seems well cared for, though.”

Leonie stepped forward a tad more, yet kept a safe distance all the same. When she heard footsteps coming into their direction she turned around, only to lay her gaze upon Claude in his full golden armour reserved for riding Barbarossa exclusively, followed by Marianne, Ignatz, Lorenz and Hilda, the latter two of which donned their own hunting garbs.

“Long time no see, eh?” Claude smirked with glee.

Byleth was yet ensure if she could call her bundle of friends a striking look to behold or not, for Claude radiated confidence, Hilda eagerness, Ignatz curiosity, Marianne nervousness and Lorenz an unhealthy mix of the four.

“Byleth! You should be happy to know that all our arrows have been dipped in different colours as requested. They gave you cyan, a really lovely shade I must admit, and oh it will fit your outfit per-"

“He's happy to see you be so energised", Hilda said to cut Lorenz off.

Marianne, to her right, chuckled lightly. “We are delighted to see you again.” She wore her hair in a tight braid, with no strands falling out. If it weren't for the expertly done technique it could fall, but it did not, and instead kept it all close cropped to her head. It was a good look, if a bit strict for her soft facial features.

Ignatz still wore the same non-conform hairstyle, but the glasses were different, the rim of them much more elaborate than a merchant's son could have worn without the influence of a noble. Then again, his marriage to Marianne and highly sought after artistic skills had levelled him up to another standard, not that it changed his humble nature any. “We hope you do not hold a grudge if we support Claude-"

“Oh yeah.” Hilda chipped in. “You should know that these two lovebirds here are on team Claude. ‘We just want to see suffering be reduced.’ was their reason. And as for Lorenz...that degenerate stabbed me in the back!”

Lorenz, feeling visibly hurt, clutched at the place where his heart would be theatrically. “Stabbed? My Hilda, I would never! Claude here, the weasel, used a scheme against me. Why, he had me repay him back for the favour that I called in to get you an intricate necklace from his family heirloom!”

Hilda puffed out her chest and cheeks and dug a finger into his chest. “So it's my fault now!?”

Claude chuckled to himself, sauntered over to Barbarossa and Byleth's wyvern and greeted them both with warm embraces. In Barbarossa's case this led to Claude getting a wet kiss from a wyvern's tongue. “Ugh. Love you too, old boy.”

Byleth smiled, shook her head, then turned to her group of friends, the seriousness returning to her features. She could diffuse this situation easily. “We should try to have fun, despite the stakes. I ah, welcome you to Garreg Mach and the 20thd Golden Stag Hunt to celebrate the heroism of our great Almyran King.”

“You forgot radiant, handsome and spectacular, Byleth", Claude hummed from right next to her. She turned, and stared into brilliant emerald eyes. “That's very important, wouldn't you say?”

How he had managed to sneak to her side, she wasn't aware of. But yet he was there, holding onto her hip just slightly.

Leonie rolled her eyes. “We see if that's true or if you _fail_ spectacularly.”

“Oh, so you roped Leonie and Raphael onto your side, then?” His smirk seemed to grow significantly, in the way it always did when a particular scheme brought him genuine joy. “Three for three, then. I get Marianne, Ignatz and Lorenz. You Hilda, Raphael and Leonie. Seems _fair_, right?”

She stared back at him with confidence, despite the uncertainty towards her own plan. “You forgot Lysithea, Claude.”

“She already disclosed to me that she will be a neutral party in all of this.” Claude nodded to himself, and Marianne and Ignatz were helpful enough to give away that he was telling the truth.

Marianne turned to Byleth after. “I will still cheer you on, too, of course...”

“We wish you luck, yes.” Ignatz smiled softly.

Lorenz heaved a sigh. “My hands are bound, I must confess. Do not take your certain loss as a personal one, Byleth.”

Hilda snorted, decidedly unladylike. “Pffft, it's you who's going to be an utter failure, Lorenz. We got this, Byleth!”

“You have Raphael and me on your side”, Leonie said for the both of them.

Claude made to grab Byleth's hand, and, upon reaching it, pressed a kiss upon her skin. Then he shook it with all the power of a man who was sure he would win no matter the circumstances, his grip firm and gaze deadly serious for once.

“Good luck, Byleth. You'll _need_ it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should you wish to follow me on tumblr/twitter for future art and things like that, here's my info (keep in mind that my tumblr needs to be overhauled and my twitter is still a baby):
> 
> Twitter: CirrocumulusCC  
https://mobile.twitter.com/CirrocumulusCC  
Tumblr: cirrocumulus-cloud  
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cirrocumulus-cloud


	7. To Start a Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which wine is consumed and horns are blown.

The thing about nobles was that they clawed the world open for grandeur, and a show of skill and schemes was no different. One would have to be accustomed to the silk clothes much too expensive to stain with hunts to attempt to walk amongst them, and Byleth did so with practiced ease that would never reach her veins. The hustle and bustle that came with an atmosphere chock full of joy, filled to the brim with eager smiles and engaging smalltalk drained her energy much more than a battle ever could, but then the bile from the sight of dead bodies tasted worse than the one attained from dry wine.

She spat the drink out when no one was looking, anyhow, and cleaned her chin with the sleeve of her garments, staining the fabric a burgundy colour. It could imitate blood only on a bad day, but today was good, and only mildly revolting. It could bury her plans underneath her if she faltered even once, but the festivities urged her to get a looser tongue, and she never had one when completely sober. Besides, a sip for good luck was a practice even the church partook in for prayer sometimes. And every noble insisted year after year on their good luck charm of a beverage.

“Trying to drink some courage into that fearful body of yours, _Archbishop?” _A chuckled voice, carried over from the wind, tickled her cheeks. With it came the clinking sound of chalices being pushed together, and wine swept like waves over the side of one.

He licked the sticky substance off of his fingers with all the lack of poise that a man of his status should possess, then raised his own drink to her lips with a smile. “Drink up then, it's sweet.”

She huffed, in return. Eyed the gloves that he had tucked into his belt, black leather offset by the red that clasped around his body akin to a string of fate. Finding the smell to be utterly normal she wet her lips on the alcohol, tasted the much more pleasant drink, then shook her head. “You are sure this drink isn't spiked?”

“My, my", Claude mumbled while pulling the wine away. His fingers searched for her own, yet stopped midway, as did the inclination of his head, dipped in such a way it could lead to a quick kiss; or two. Thankfully he brushed it all off with an elaborate gulp of his own, and a big grin thereafter. “I know better than to cause warfare across countries for the simple benefit of seeing your cheeks redden.”

“Redden?” She deftly stole the chalice away, and downed the rest of the drink. It reminded him of the ways she would gulp down ale, as it was far more befitting of a mercenary than a leader. “You are a fool if you think me incapacitated after a single drink.”

As if on cue he rolled into a comment that, even under the best light, could only be described as manipulative. Not in a malicious way - his desires were hardly of a disingenuous nature - yet for onlookers this act he put on must look like a King playing with political fire. “I've got a whole bottle for us to enjoy and discuss court intrigue over.”

She chuckled, just barely. It was a hiss of air escaping her plump lips and he felt drawn near, but kept his distance. Only his gaze lingered lower, yet the tent they stood under and the mass of people engaged in various topics of talk shielded them from view. 

“Maybe.” Putting the empty chalices back onto the table while admiring how gaudy they looked gave her time to let her words linger. Once she turned back around she searched for the eager sparkle in his eyes, the one he could hide ever well, only not when she tried to wrap him around her fingers. “Once I kick your ass, that is.”

“You ought to say _if_, my-“, a cough, and he let his eyes flit across the open field and over the heads of people he could look over, “...Teach.”

For a second she froze. Felt the wind cool her skin and bite into her throat. Then Byleth found her voice again, a strictly platonic sounding strain of a sentence. “_Queen _would be more correct, King von Riegan.”

“Oh", a grin, half genuine, “but of course.”

Claude shifted the way he moved, walked closer until he stood next to her and could lean against the table filled with snacks and alcohol. He did so gracefully, yet it seemed a bit off to find a man of his age crossing his arms like a school boy, dressed in full hunting garbs.

Or maybe it was yet a trick of the light and shadows that dipped him in age, as though he had been dunked into the stream of time. Byleth made to follow his action, if only to have something to do with her own twitching fingers.

Then she tried to pick out her friends in the crowd, found how Lorenz' nose curled upward in disgust upon the taste of a cheap wine meant for the commoners. Hilda was laughing beside him, stuffing her cheeks with a frilly cake that could make Lysithea jealous. Ignatz, Marianne and Leonie were harder to make out in the crowd, but she thought she saw their familiar heads sticking out from a group of people surrounding some of the paintings on display.

Her attention focused back on Claude and the glimmer that he wore on his ring finger, a soft shine of a promise she didn't dare hold him to. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw him appreciate the one adorning her finger with the same sort of melancholy, before a grin dared to split his face in two again.

“There's people here that drink more than a single glass, as nobles ought to do. They'll be round up and disqualified before they can make a fuzz. Truly a sight to be seen.” His fingers drummed on his arms, a bit impatient. “I'm looking forward to seeing you put that noble in his place. You'll need the action after I've crushed you.”

She made to answer him with a quip of her own, yet soon enough they were interrupted by some of the nobles that had participated in the political talks a day prior. The woman from former Alliance territory was there, as was the very man she would take on in a duel later in the day. Both of them seemed curious, though while the woman regarded them with interest, the man did so with agitation.

“It is good to see the both of ya in idle discussion. I feared that the joy of the festivities would be overshadowed by the King’s unfair request”, the noblewoman mused. “But I s’ppose you _do_ go way back, yes? Perhaps such a friendship can withstand the test of time and tactics.”

“It does, in fact.” Claude sent her a disarming smile, one that could disrobe women but then it never did unless it was aimed at Byleth directly. “Political debates require you to leave your relationships at the doorstep. Mastering such a skill is something few achieve. _I_, of course, happen to be one of them.”

She laughed, quietly, while the man regarded Claude with open disdain yet, the snarl ugly and bearlike on his face. “Well we shall see how skilful you are with a bow and arrow, then. Let it be known that I have won countless trophies in my life.”

“Sheesh”, Claude sighed. “If you think you can best me before my former _Teach_ here can, then you are quite the delusional fella.”

“I beg your pardon?” A breath like fumes rose in the cool autumn air, his cheeks red and afire in anger, yet the words sounded almost sweet. The sort of patience that had to be pressed out of teeth, lest it devolve into bickering and vulgar insults.

Byleth found her voice between a soft tug on her lips that dared to lift them upward. “You may ask, even beg for my forgiveness later, should you wish for it. Do not forget, _Sothis_ sees all.”

Had her hair been always this radiant? Her eyes so piercing? The nobleman turned white at the tips of his ears, and the colour quickly began to overtake the red that had settled on his skin prior to her words. “The Goddess-"

“And I as her messenger. I see you, I hear you.” Somewhere deep inside of her she could feel the tingling sensation of laughter of the holy kind. “So be kind, as she would want you to be.”

Somewhere, in that corner of her head saved for nothing but her own thoughts, she thought she never felt less genuine. A position such as hers demanded more belief in religion than the simple knowledge that the Goddess was an entity that existed – or _had_ existed, once.

Still, she would not show such troubling mind games of her own volition to the people in front of her. Byleth was sure Claude could analyse all the ways her smile seemed fake, anyhow. It was a soft blessing in disguise that he never opened his mouth to speak against her unless it was a situation that called for steeled hearts and sharp remarks.

And this was not one of them.

But soon, it would be.

“Anyhow”, Claude started, “we ought to start the opening speech, friend. Wouldn't you say?”

Byleth nodded. “Right.”

With that he grabbed for the carved horn strapped to his armoured clothes, a finely detailed almyran piece of culture. The ornamental weapon of a long since passed wyvern seemed to rest in his hand as though it were still attached to a beast. Yet he triumphed over it, drew the narrow end to his lips so that his breath could produce a roar.

And it did.

Signalled for all heads to turn their way, nobles and commoners alike, and soon enough the people made way so that the both of them appeared centre stage. The attention was met by Byleth with a practiced calm, one that would never truly be her own, but then her body and mind had rarely been hers in the past decades.

She stared down at the emerald adorning her finger and glistening when the light hit it right, sighed with the countenance of a religious and political figure, and let her voice be heard by the onlookers.

Besides, the first part was a practiced speech, hardly different from the nineteen others that preceded it.

“We hereby welcome all of you, nobles and commoners alike, to the 20th golden stag hunt.”

Her voice was a wonder swept up with the wind, a loud howl that almost echoed. She found her worry grow distant as Claude let a hand rest on her shoulder, the action grounding her better than anything else truly could. Rooted there she spoke up once more, head held high.

“Today marks a special day, one we fought long and hard for, and it shall be treated with the respect that our cultures deserve. As such you are free to mingle with our Almyran guests and those from other places, we outright encourage it. Raise your glasses to a long bound friendship between our countries, and for those of you yet sober enough to shoot a straight arrow, we welcome you to join in on the hunt itself.”

Polite cheers erupted, the stoic kind. The sort of joy that was not rambunctious but regal – full of the clapping of hands and little smiles. It was a good type of genuine happiness however, the wild fun hidden beneath facades.

She wore her own well, let her lips tug ever more upward in response, and felt her secret lover press her shoulder once, his touch warm and welcome. It was respectful all the same, spoke of a well maintained distance that yet dared to be crossed, but wouldn't be. The act to make the way his fingers lingered possessive would be an easy one, yet he behaved well, and only carved out the pit in her stomach made for butterflies with a charming grin.

“As is customary at this point, the great King of Almyra – that would be me - shall open the festivities with a second roar of the wyvern horn.” He chuckled. “That's this one, in my hand. No wyverns were harmed, should you wish to know. Have I ever told you that it belonged to the wyvern my Father used to ride? I must have. Nevertheless, I shall talk about it later, when we've all had our fill of action.”

There came a crooked edge that overtook what was before an anecdote of quite genuine joy. Not sharp enough to cut and draw blood, but made to sting.

“Before the fun can start however, we must discuss a bet.”

Take it from Claude to swing into the thicket of an ambush with nothing but open arms and a disarming smile. This one, as planned before, grew out of political soil, watered with words to grow branches that could divide.

“Your Queen, your Leader, your Archbishop – my _friend_. She and I have found a way to deal with our differences regarding a request that would have her lend me parts of Fódlan to fight against the drought that has threatened the starvation of my people.”

His sentences were to the point, poignant and perfectly pronounced. Claude meant to wield them as weapons, and the effect of it was clear, as the commoners especially stared wide eyed and with fearful wonder at the sharply dressed King.

Byleth herself felt the hand on her shoulder claw down into her flesh, the action now much more progressively aggressive than before. He held on as though trying to graft himself onto a different tree, but she had always been someone who lacked roots.

“Now, us Almyrans pride ourselves in being tough, resolute, and effective in our pursuits.” Maybe she imagined it, or maybe he truly started drawing lines into her skin with his thumb. “As someone with both the hot blood of Almyra as well as the cold from Fódlan in my veins I have to assure you, however, that none of what we present to you is of malicious intent. In fact it was not me, but Lady Byleth who proposed it.”

Then his attention was retaken by her, as he withdrew it from the crowd entirely. His gaze stared with intent, and the shine behind his eyes betrayed once more the political puppet that he had mastered to perform as all those years ago. “Why don't you tell them all about it, _as it was your idea, eh?_”

The nod that she gave in return was curt. “...certainly.”

A sigh came after, a humble sound meant to give her a second more to catch her thoughts. Byleth felt her pulse quicken ever so slowly, the thrumming sensation under her skin giving way for a shaky breath before a steadfast mask was placed onto her features once more.

“King von Riegan and I have made a bet. Whoever kills the golden stag will not only win the hunt, but the right to decide in whichever way the situation is to be resolved.”

For a minute all was silent.

Then the hush hush of whispering started, dragged to the surface by well maintained and manicured nails that pointed at them. Each sentence hammered into the ground was another piercing motion, only half as hurtful as the gazes.

To her surprise it was Seteth, having found his way to the edge of the crowd for the first time that day, who was the first to find his voice again. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Byleth winced internally, her outer appearance still stoic, statue-esque. “The King of Almyra was forcing my hand. In retaliation, I forced his.”

Claude took up the torch of being the centre of discussion once more. “Witty, that one. I am always up for a challenge. What our Lady Byleth lacks in expertise she makes up for with tactics. I agreed to her conditions.”

“Which were...?”, one of the Noblemen from Embarr demanded to know.

The woman from former Alliance territory stared over in shock. “The Archbishop would make such a gamble?”

One of the Almyran guests, on the other hand, seemed intrigued. “We'll show ‘er!”

“The conditions are as followed: We hunt in two teams, Lady Byleth's arrows can be identified through cyan dipped feathers, while mine shall be yellow. Whoever kills the golden stag will get to propose a trade agreement. This includes the lending of Fódlan land and soil; everything more detailed will then be discussed at a later date, yet the immediate outcome – whether or not Fódlan gets to keep its border as it is today – will be determined by this hunt.”

“But you cannot-" Seteth sputtered, cheeks aflame in clear anger.

The people, of course, chimed in as well. “This ‘ere lad tryin' to get my land? Nay!”

“Would that mean we could lose Fódlan's Throat as well?” A worried woman belonging to House Goneril worried aloud.

“I would not become an Almyran citizen no matter the cause", another spat.

A religious scholar simply shook his head. “To think that our very own Lady Byleth would propose such an idea...”

“It was a necessary one”, she found herself explaining. “It was that or the King leaving us on the brink of the 20th anniversary of the Fódlan-Almyran friendship we have cultivated so diligently.”

“What can I say, I play politics well", Claude chimed in. “Sheesh, this should be fun. Rejoice, people. It is not a war that we are fighting. It is a _gamble, _and you are right, it is unfair. Yet expecting anything less from me would have been foolish from the start.”

Byleth was unsure if he deliberately tried to set himself up as a man capable of clear cut manipulation. She knew him to be more empathetic than that, going on about friendship and camaraderie in places that his youthful self would have snarled at. He was not the young boy anymore who thought himself clever by using people to his own advantage to combat his trust issues, he was a man leading a country.

A _starving _country.

Perhaps his empathy was simply aligned differently, and casting himself in the shadows of a schemer made that weight lighter to bear. She knew he would never try to gain a tactical advantage on her for malicious intent, much less warfare.

But he played a gamble nevertheless, had taken her up on her bet.

That had to be enough to ensure confidence in her, and trust in him but more so in her own abilities.

So she stepped away from him, left his arm in a limp state, stuck between reaching out and letting her go. She addressed the people one last time, feet already dragging her towards the open built wyvern stables. This had to be an act that mimicked a war cry, a call for action. So her voice rose to loud levels, a sound eager to imitate an echo.

“I plan to win. Whoever intends to have us keep our ground, pick up the cyan dipped arrows, and shoot them sharply for Fódlan! Together, the King shall stand no chance!”

As the vast majority of people attending the festivities hailed from Fódlan, a boastful energy swept through the area, dragging with it the optimistic shouts of newly energised believers, nobles and commoners alike.

In this moment, all of Byleth's people were rallying together for a common goal.

As she exited the tent she looked back one last time, mouth forming words in his own language.

_“You would do well to remember that you are nothing but a guest in **my **country.”_

For the first time on that day, Claude was utterly speechless.

~☆~

Watching the myriad of people try their best to shoot straight arrows that would hit the dummy targets meant for practice was, all things considered, a fun endeavour. One that managed to take Byleth's mind off of the ever fast approaching game.

She watched from the side-lines, already done with her own meagre demonstration, twiddling her own cyan feathered arrow between her fingers in an idle motion. It was a good way to waste time, and while Ignatz and Leonie made a competition out of the need to prove themselves sober enough to participate the rest of her gaggle of friends cheered them on.

Of course, Ignatz had a vast advantage against her own team mate, but Leonie would make that up with endurance, of which she possessed much. To her right Marianne hummed contentedly as the yellow dipped arrow hit the wooden deer dummy between the oaken ribs.

“Eek!” Needless to say, she still winced. Her love for animals apparently went as far as vague shapes cut to imitate them.

Hilda meanwhile laughed, quite the contrary of a charming helper. “You missed that! Leonie, even I could have shot better!”

“Why don't you try it then, huh?”, came the annoyed retort.

But Hilda simply leaned back, showcasing freshly primed nails and sighing. “I would but oh, I cannot risk my new manicure.”

“Hilda", Byleth found herself saying. “You already shot an arrow to confirm that you are up for the task...and one of your nails ripped in the process.”

Lorenz shook his head at that. “I truly wish she would have abstained. Say, my Love, would you care for another drink? I shall fetch it for you.”

“Careful", came Hilda's singsong retort, “you keep this behaviour up and I shall forget my ladylike behaviour and carve you a new haircut with my axe.”

That shut him up real good. Byleth felt herself giggling softly, before that bubbling sensation in her ebbed away the moment Claude returned to their ragtag group, Failnaught in hand and a group of onlookers in tow. She herself had had much less curious watchers follow her display of skills, but then most of the people she had inspired to grab cyan arrows of their own were much more busy training up to keep their home country in one piece. She could not fault them for such behaviour.

Claude, meanwhile, dragged along what seemed to be the vast majority of Almyran guests and sympathizers, a true intimidating bunch of which most held their bows with proper grips, something that immediately spoke of a much higher standard of skill.

“Hey there, fellas", he greeted in that particularly Claude way of his. “Care for a true display of Almyran pride?”

“You know true and well that you are required to use the same standardised bow as everyone else, yes?”, Byleth asked, voice stoic.

“Oh c'mon, _Lady Byleth._ This is just for _show_.” He fluently switched to the language of his people right after, the words falling on the deaf ears of her friends while hers were keenly alert. _“Now, men, please watch the Great Leader of All of Fódlan be reduced to an embarrassed mess.” _

He winked in that disgustingly self loving way of his, arrogant from the tips of his ears down to his sharp glistening teeth. Then he zeroed in on the dummy target Byleth had used, her arrow yet stuck in the throat of the wooden animal, and drew the string back until it was taut enough to propel the weapon forward.

The yellow arrow flew in precise elegance, only to dig into the wood with a satisfying thumping sound. Leonie and Ignatz watched it rush by, eyes widened upon realising that the new one had found its place right next to Byleth's own arrow, just a hair's width away.

Then another took flight, flanking her arrow on the left side this time.

Hilda gasped out loud, Lorenz lost track of his noble ways and only hid his surprise with a quickly rising hand and Marianne looked ahead in utter shock.

Still not satisfied with his over the top showcase he fired two more, those two hitting the spots facing north and south respectively.

After all was done but nothing said her friends, both those on Byleth's team and those on Claude's, simply stared jaw opened wide at her neatly boxed in arrow, the cyan overtaken by ripe yellow feathers.

Claude himself went into an elaborate bow, clearly mocking her in a cheeky way, and earned himself a round of applause by his fellow men, as well as the judges for the practice rounds. He stared over at her after, grin in place and eyes ablaze with pride and whatever twisted desires he could attempt to pull out of her.

“Say, _friend_, in Almyra such a display nets you the kiss of a princess. Where's my prize?”

An open mouthed round of boisterous laughter resounded, and his smile certainly doubled in size. The Almyrans around him were busy snorting and chuckling, clearly entertained by their quick witted sharp shooter of a leader. 

Byleth would not give him the victory over her feelings, however. She continued to twirl the arrow in her hands around, focusing on the sharp little end and little else. The words would hurt – they had to – but maybe they could kick him off of his high horse, bring him back down to reality and forego the flirting entirely.

“What a shame it is that I have no daughter, then.”

He sputtered, tried to play it off by running a hand through his wild locks of hair. “Sheesh it, ah, was a joke.”

“Well", one of the Almyrans declared, his beard full and fluffy and faintly styled like the one that Nader had worn in his younger years, “seems like romance is off the table then, my King. Care for a political marriage? This one’s feisty enough to shut yer right up, eh.”

Once more the laughter bellowed, yet this time Claude did not join in. There was fear glinting in his eyes, overplayed by a flirtatious tone at record speed just to hide behind a farce. “Is she? I intend to make her scream before long – out of anger, I might add. I am indeed a gentleman. Whatever comes _after_ can be discussed over wine. I do love court intrigue.”

The man hit him warmheartedly on his back, all boundaries forgotten momentarily. “Hah, that would certainly settle that bet of yours, wouldn't it? Just seduce her already, I'd say.”

Hilda, curse her specifically, giggled like mad upon seeing the scenario play out like a theatrical release. She clung to Lorenz' shoulder in order to steady himself, who in turn looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but between a group of sweaty Almyran men. Marianne, bless her, seemed utterly apologetic for something that wasn't her fault at all.

Byleth seethed silently while addressing Claude's gaggle of misfits. “_Enough_. Stop your idle chitchat at once, else I will have to use you as target practice.” 

The judges pointedly ignored the little argument, opting to analyse how well Ignatz and Leonie did instead. Such an evaluation did not take long, as it was simply tied to counting the arrows that were embedded in the wood and were they had hit.

The crowd that Claude had surrounded himself with fell into a graceless silence, for what it was worth. Just grins reigned, the hint of teeth and tremors of laughter that would not bubble to the surface. They did not take her serious enough, visibly, did just the least amount of effort required to not be handed the keys of disqualification.

This was her kingdom, and the chains were hers to rattle.

So she grabbed a hold of Leonie’s bow as she and Ignatz made their way back over, arrow still in hand, and deftly drew the strings taut with little effort. She knew that she was far from a master of archery, would never be able to pin dreams to the horizon in the same way that Claude did.

But when the cyan dipped weapon flew through the air like a shooting star, only to dig itself into the ground an inch before Claude's booted feet, she could not supress a grin. Because now, the men had stilled in truth and with little trouble.

“Careful, King von Riegan", Byleth mused. “Or I may ask you to dance for me.”

It seemed to carefully impress the bunch of sweaty men, in that specific way that had them regard her with the history burning in their eyes that she had helped be painted into the world, free thoughts forged from flames.

Her quip seemed to alleviate at least some of the tension, and while Claude yet looked ripped apart at the fraying edges of his eyes, the fake joy overtook what was visible.

And a remark of his own was not hard to come by. “Well, you have my permission. But let's wait until the feast for that, yes? First, I'll devour you in this battle of ours.”

The grin widened like an open maw, so large that the danger lurking inside could be seen, pink tongued and eager. “We'll see whatever else you'll enjoy, besides wine. Who knows? You might even take a bite out of me.”

With that, the men were once more full of anticipation for their leader, who made to leave with a small wave and a glow that could rival the sun. The day was bright, and looking at him made her eyes sting. The obvious underlying implications had, she told herself, nothing to do with it. It was anger that nibbled at her skin, not the promise of moments that history would not dare to write down.

Before he turned around she saw him mouth something in her direction that surprisingly looked like_ “With everything I am.”_, and, seeing her stare back in confusion and slowly melting anger – for she had missed half of his declared whisper – he raised the hand adorned with Jeralt's ring as an apology.

Then he left for his wyvern, stepped deftly over the arrow in the ground that yet peeked up into the sky with its brilliant cyan feathers, taking Marianne, Ignatz and Lorenz with him.

“I shall see you later, everyone. Do take care of yourselves. You especially, Hilda", Lorenz murmured.

Marianne bowed lightly. “I wish you luck, everyone.” She then took Ignatz’ hand in her own.

“I will look forward to the stories we can later tell each other", he mused.

With that, they trotted off, following a group of people that were fighting for a goal moreso out of pride than true patriotism it seemed like.

After Claude and his entourage had left Hilda and Leonie came to her side, the former wearing a sly smile while the latter held a full frown.

“Scandalous, our Claude.” Hilda almost squealed. “Being courted twice by the same man, you are so lucky!”

Leonie boxed her in her ribs. “Shhht, quiet. Obviously he's doing this to throw Byleth off. We should focus, and we are at the disadvantage when it comes to close allies, because Raphael isn't here.”

Byleth sighed. “Leonie’s right. Let's saddle up and get ready.”

Hearing this, her friend seemed nervous at last. “About that...”

“You're flying with Hilda. She can handle this, don't you worry.” Byleth gave a small smile, tiny as it may be, in encouragement.

But Hilda, of course, had to whine. “Aww Byleth, _really? _You know my girl, she can't handle all the extra weight- ouch!”

Once more Hilda had to deal with a slap that was more-so to hurt her ego than her body. Still, her ribs ached. “Now that was uncalled for.”

It was Leonie's turn to wear a smile, now. “No, I think that was entirely deserved.”

“Oh I'll show you once I'm in charge, Leo-"

It was a soft blow to her own stomach, a bubbling little wave that crashed over her, and Byleth felt herself shake her head with the slightest breeze of genuine joy. Something that managed to shake the mountains of burdens, even if it could not topple them.

“I am glad you haven't changed.”

Their little fight seemed entirely forgotten in but a second.

Hilda snorted, incredibly unladylike, and put an arm around Byleth in a sideways hug. It smelled faintly of roses and whatever else women seemed to love, and it was entirely unfitting for herself, but calming. Perhaps there was a touch of certain timelessness in it all still, despite the way her outer appearance had changed.

“Some things never do, you know.”

Leonie, too, still felt the same as she had always been. Because no hug came from her but a soft touch of her fist colliding with Byleth's shoulderblade, and then a pat on her back and a prideful smirk on her face.

“C'mon now, we need to kick Claude's ass, and we need to do it well enough that Jeralt would say ‘That's my daughter!’.”

She laughed in return, a wistful sound, scarcely worry-free.

Picked the arrow out of the ground after, and held it in her hands with the strength of someone who would put the will of her people first, and herself after, but with a steeled heart rather than one out of stone.

Claude had said it himself.

Politics was a game one had to play well.

And losing was not an option.

“Let's show them something they can all believe in, then.”

~☆~

The grounds outside of Garreg Mach were full with the eager roars and flapping of wyverns, all of them primed for the hunt to come. Claws were digging into the dirt, pulling out roots from the ground. Others crooned their heads to feel their riders scratch at their necks, calming them. Then there were those that seemed entirely unbothered, those that dared to be on the frail side, those that had too much meat on their bones. Whatever the case, every beast seemed prepared.

Byleth saw old and young riders, skilled and unskilled participants, commoners and nobles and everything in-between. What they had in common was a wish to start, a bow and a multitude of arrows, as well as motivation that could rival an army.

She made her way across the fields until her own partner came into view, and the old girl made a shrill sound in greeting. Her body was adorned with glamourous armour, something much more befitting of a wyvern in its prime years, but then she had been a present and to Byleth she was a treasure.

She opened her palm, pressed it in a gentle motion to her snout, and closed her eyes.

“I trust you to carry me, Mira.”

In turn, the scaly, winged lizard pressed closer to her, buried whatever it could in her hand, and pressed out air through its nostrils in joy. Byleth patted her head in reply, scratched the spot between her antlers softly, before saddling up.

Once steady on the back of her wyvern she looked around, saw Hilda crawl up her own wyvern with Leonie in tow, how Lorenz held the reigns of the beast he sat on with trembling hands while Marianne and Ignatz seemed much more comfortable on their own companion. Marianne held onto the animal, while Ignatz already had his bow at the ready and one arm around her waist.

At the forefront of the participants stood a white wyvern, flanked left and right by lighter coloured ones that all seemed to be Almyran bred beasts. Those were much more eyecatching, yet also agitated compared to the Fódlan ones surrounding Byleth.

None of them however could rival Claude's white steed with the red tassels, a sight so striking it demanded the attention of all saddled men and women. The big male was bursting with energy, fangs bared and saliva dropping to the ground, and Byleth was sure only Claude himself could keep him calm in such a moment. His wyvern yearned for action, yet was entirely under the control of the Almyran King, even purred when he scratched him behind the ears.

Then Claude turned around to analyse the situation, grin broad and wide and brilliant in the light, and he fetched the horn once more. She noted how his fingers were hidden underneath gloves, now, though also saw the glimmer of a certain ring glisten. Why he bothered to wear it openly over such a bothersome material as leather, she had no idea.

But then he raised his voice, and her thoughts were overtaken by booming words.

“Welcome to the 20th golden stag hunt, everyone!”

Claude grabbed one of the yellow dipped arrows with his free hand, and made a show out of twirling it around, ending by throwing it far up into the air and catching it easily as it went back down.

“Today, we will fight not only for the chance to kill the golden stag, but for the future of our countries as well! It is a game with raised stacks. In Almyra, we welcome schemes to come out on top, so scheme to your hearts content, and shoot your arrows for victory!”

White teeth shown brightly as a stark contrast to the flurry of colours all around, as participants grabbed for the arrows that showed their alignment left and right.

“For Fódlan”, Byleth heard farmers and noblemen growl.

Others cheered a different tune. “Almyra shall be victorious!”

“We'll crush ‘em Almyrans fair and square!”

“Those Fódlan gentleladies have no chance!”

Some gripped their arrows tightly. “We will not lose our border!’

Others let them imitate what Claude had done before. “To end starvation!”

The shouts went on, and on, and on.

That is, until Claude opened his mouth once more. And he opened it in a shout, a roar, an echo. Raised his voice to the heavens and breathed out air and anticipation alike, while his wyvern replied in kind, scales and skin brightly lit in the way the sun caught on him like he could trap whatever light would touch.

“Enjoy the festivities, everyone. Because _this_ is a real hunt.”

Then he held the horn to his lips, and the following sound trembled like an earthquake.

As he began to blow the wyvern horn the beasts took flight, wings spanned across the sky akin to fell stars and whatever else the Gods had pinned to the firmament.

Byleth watched as countless wyvern became dotted spots on the horizon, still half in awe at the sight twenty years later. She felt her own imitation of a dragon claw at the ground, patience running dry, and pressed her palm to aged scales.

The stars may not have looked down at them, but as she let her gaze fall away from the piercing stare of Mira to the heavens her eyes got caught on brilliant green and nothing more.

Only one beast beside her remained, a pure white spot to blind her.

It's rider continued to stare at her as though she were whatever the clouds could never hide, nor the day. And then he smiled at her, raised the arm that was now free of either arrow or horn just slightly, just high enough so he could press a kiss upon the ring on his finger.

And he did so with glee, lips touching the embedded crystals as his mouth was tugged upward in the smuggest smile. He drew back only to wink at her with the arrogance of a man who had just managed to make her blush with little more than a gesture.

_A moment later he was gone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named Byleth's wyvern that she got from Claude "Mira", as it is a red giant star and means "astonishing/wonderful" in Latin. =3
> 
> I had planned to combine this Chapter and the next one, but the setup turned out to be like, 6.5k words long, so I thought it better to split them up.  
I hope you don't mind a bit more waiting for some real action, it will be here real soon!


	8. No More Chapters

This is an awful post to write, but I'm going to be straight to the point:

**I won't continue Stars Shatter any further, ** _as well as some other fics (who will receive similar update posts once I'm sure of what gets the axe). _

I am not happy about it anymore, I do not feel confident enough in my writing abilities, and it's been enough time for most of you to probably have forgotten about it all - which is okay, of course! Certainly better than waiting like four months for an update!

I will delete the fanfiction at the end of February, so if you'd like to save it, you can do so.

I'm sorry that I never got to reply to all of your lovely comments! I'm going to save them, though, so they won't have been written in vain. 

I am alright with giving a rough outline of what I had planned, should any of you wish to know about it, so the fic at least gets some sort of farewell. 

Thank you everyone who had an interest in my humble writing abilities.

\- Cirro 


	9. Yes, More Chapters

Thank you, everyone.

I think that is the best way to start this Update. 

_Thank you._

As you can see from this story still being up, I did not have the heart to go through with deleting it. My writing comes from a personal place, in regards to how I voice and write stuff. Writing is a part of me, as much as a hobby can be, anyway. I love language and how you can twist and turn it, so much so that I am teaching myself Japanese in my free time. 

All of my writing skills are self acquired. I never went to a writing course, or studied it, or worked with the concept of writing in any way, shape or form. All that my writing is, is years upon years of a love for stories, and all that I know about writing stems from reading books and analysing poems, slam poetry in particular. My favourite poet is Shane Koyczan, his writing style is to die for, it heavily influences my own. 

I deeply think that words have the ability to carry emotions with them, and because of this I pour emotions into my written works. This isn't always a positive aspect, however, as I have struggled with anxiety attacks for years, now. They come, and they charge at me, and they overwhelm me, and it rips my self worth apart, and they cause me to hurt myself and others emotionally. But my writing skills are deeply connected to my self worth, so the moment my mental health suffers, so does my ability to judge the worth of me and my works. 

I wrote a poem, back when my most recent anxiety attack (the one that caused me to want to delete For Whom the Stars Shatter) hit. It's very raw, and symbolic, but I think some of you might gleam something from it. It is written below, but here is a link to a twitter post containing it, if you'd like to have it in a prettier form: https://mobile.twitter.com/CirrocumulusCC/status/1233470000368947206 

•●ANXIETY●•  
Your call is a Leviathan, a beast that rocks my shore.  
I swallow all the breaks and bones and flood you out, skin sore.  
You know not of the waves, the woes, shout only of the heat haze days, and does.  
The killed dears, raising stacks upon corpses for crows.

~☆~

I want to thank all of you personally, comment on every single one of you who were so nice to leave encouraging words to me here (That's 22 of you at the time of me writing this! Twenty two!) or through a DM, but I am afraid it would turn me into a pile of crying goo once more at this point. 

So, instead, let me answer to all of you at once now, and individually later if I find the strength:

Your words were not only encouraging, they touched my heart. I cried reading them all, heavily, because I did not think in the slightest that I would end up with such loyal readers who would think of my humble story even months after no updates. Even stranger, people who would be saddened to see it gone, who would take time out of their day to remind me that they enjoyed my writing.

You guys are awesome.

I truly do not think that I deserve you.

And I cannot thank you enough for supporting me, for sticking with FWtSS even now. How can I delete this, now? I can't. There's so much yet to tell, to put into flowery, flowing words that hopefully manage to touch you guys half as much as your words touched me.

**For Whom the Stars Shatter will continue.**

Slowly, at times, but I will carry on. 

Because of all of you.

I will update this story as soon as I am able to, and I will delete both this announcement as well as the last update when that happens, but I will save all of your comments, so that I can always look at them whenever my anxiety demons tempt me with feelings of worthlessness. 

Please take this Sneak Peek of the next Chapter until then.  


Thank you:  
AuroraBlueSkies  
Aepycamelus  
Vaidilute  
Friedkimchilover  
Anam_Writes  
smallestbrown  
alitaire  
KeyKidCerilia  
Goldiloxx  
effin_bs  
Lili  
Skylin  
izayummikiwi  
spadenoace  
IndigoSteel  
rose427  
Bereus  
clocklessnight  
medusamother  
K. Kat  
metallicbubbles  
_and everyone else who has read For Whom the Stars Shatter until now. _

~☆~

There was a far grace to his movement, a static, stoic nature grafted from stone and stars. Old, in the way that the firmament was _old_, a wise wonder that put constellations into wounds. So when his clothed fingers connected with the cut that cluttered up the space of her cheeks it was not the coldness of wind-hugged leather that she felt, but an emotion too distant to call desire and too near to just be love.

“Are you...?” 

Some would call it _worry_, for it was born from fear and clutched his heart with a hammering beat, fingers flexing in a fierce fashion. Such actions stung, but not due to the strain that was put on the seeping, ever-growing stain which coloured her flesh crimson. 

It was in his eyes. 

That startled shock with all its specks of green, unnaturally wide and so naturally befitting of a forest. Byleth made to pick out the leafs from her light tresses of hair, but found him doing it before she had a chance to snatch them up, busying his hand so as to not crush her to his form. 

“I'm alright.” 

She could crush on him once more, for the nervous chuckle that rose from his throat which would be befitting of a boy, but not a man afraid to lose his could-be-wife. It drew a smile from her own lips, thin but honest, pressed together like a would-be-kiss that she refused to press to his mouth.

Instead, she decided to clutch at his gloved hand, the one holding all the leafs akin to whispered treasures. He let them fall then, eager to hold of her what he could, and his voice spoke of such silly tales from fairies.

“You're my shooting star, you know that?” 


	10. Rabbit Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the hunt begins and a rabbit is seen.

The sky eats glee in careful measures.

It fills out mouths with windy currents, until each mortal swallows the silence. 

For Byleth, such truths held little weight, despite gravity's ever haunting embrace. Up high was riskier than down on the ground, and yet it was the somersaults of her steady heartless nature that seemed to grant her a quickening pulse.

The beast below her bared its fangs with the old, preciously ancient blood running through its veins and wings, body infused with the borrowed power of time. A snarl rang out like a hiss, and the heavens congratulated the flight with the softest hollow howl. They were risen, light touched by the sun itself yet never too close to it.

In the distance glared a spot of white, far akin to the bristled dot on a fresh painting, too wet to dry into a perfect form. This spot was on the move, and eager, and ready. And if she wished to conquer it, or keep up with its pace, then she had to be smart and sly. So she took a hold of the reins giving her reign over the soul under her, fingers gripping tightly to steer into a current of fast travelling air.

With the wind now at her back and call it felt easier to move towards the horizon and all that it touched. To reach out her hand and soar, free from fame and fortune and the famine that it brought with it.

So she laughed, a quiet, unheard expression of merrymaking. Something to enjoy, to let go of the stress that drew her muscles taut like strings ready to snap. Laughter such as this, joy so fickle that it could only live in the starless sky, was a wondrous thing. It brought her back to simpler times, to saddling up for wonders instead of war.

So she shouted no orders, but openly declared a statement, knowing full well that it would reach no ears but her own.

“Claude! You better watch out, now!” 

It would take more than a simple winged gallop to reach his form, but she was eager to rip the clouds apart. A fiery hot wish, warm enough to heat up the cool air that she breathed. In turn, the old girl she was riding on chewed on her own saliva as long drops of the substance began to run down her scaly mouth. Muscles too used to life awoke with new strength, and a shiver went through the dragon touched creature, irises small slits with a single focus.

Like this they were predators, their prey only a rush of adrenaline away.

So, with the hang on mentality of a harsh ambition she urged the monster forward, body closely huddled against its form, legs pressed in and head held high. Leaning forward came easy, riding the current of air akin to a wave felt natural. 

So they flew, in the same way that birds would at the crack of dawn, the prize in the centre of a watchful gaze. And, just like birds, they became one with the sky, feeling every flap of the wyverns wings as a display of raw abilities, honed from life and longing. 

This display of flight was fierce enough to let them make up precious distance, the dot on the far horizon now a shadowy image of a creature, its rider a fleck of golden. Byleth patted her creature with the admiration born from love.

“Good girl. But we need to be faster!”

The needed speed came with a calculated dive, the clouds an imitation of a water line, and as they splashed into them they fluffed up like foam. Byleth held her breath as though swallowed by the ocean, could feel all of the winds circle around them, a river of the unseen kind. Its current dragged them forwards, ever faster. Stronger. More fierce. 

It was a graceful fall without any water, and Byleth closed her eyes to feel the winds embrace her skin in a tight hug. The air laid kisses across her flesh in countless measures, and the clouds overhead became little more than a blanket for the sky. 

So they pressed on. And on. 

And on. 

Until they stopped.

One wingspan full of air.

A deep, long flutter.

And the sky was still for but a second.

“...hahhh.” 

Her eyes opened then, eyelashes akin to the flurry of wings, each lash a wishing well as she stared up towards the heavens and could see little more than white born from wyvern scales. 

“...we did it. He's above us.”

Her words were but a whisper as she patted her own beasts back, whose irises had become pinpricks of emotions. The top of the hill that prey died on, talons clinking together in anticipation, all age stripped away through the dive. 

“Claude!”

She was sure he could hear her, now.

“It's you and me!” 

His laughter rang out after, a howl but not hollow. Looking up, she could see the far away features of his face, alight with emotion. Claude was the ambitious type, bit upon dreams to chew, and so the weight of his voice reflected such a nature.

“A race? Is that what you're after!?”

Byleth could almost feel him rip the sky apart with his fangs, the coquettish grin nothing but a drop of white against the blue and gold. If she reached out, then her hand could nearly touch the shine that the sun gifted him with, for it was bright and bold. 

“Victory!”

Is what she declared, voice broad, larger than life. 

He turned to her fully, then, bangs cutting into his line of vision as he adjusted his position on Barbarossa so that he may stare at her form in full. It looked a bit boyish, the way he held on with both hands, a slight tremor of nerves in his grasp. A fluttering thing, really, something feathered enough to give flight whenever he could see the strength of comets return to her iron-bending will.   
From up above she looked well like a mortal, and he like the Gods she could pray to.

Yet she never did, not unless the stars were the only curious onlookers, because the sun was much too noisy of a visitor, and overall the night suited her better, with its shadowy clutches and sinful embraces. 

If he licked his lips she could not tell, but still some part of her savoured the taste of his silver tongued ways. Bitter, the second he would taste loss in his mouth. For now, sweet akin to honeyed delights and bee's wax.

“Oh, but a loss would look great on you!” 

Half of his words were drowned out by the rush of an arrow, sharp tipped as it flew by, and the careful manoeuvre of his thighs gripping on to the saddle while the roaring beast turned upside down was lost on her, too quick, too well executed for her brutish ways.

So it zoomed by, scaring her own wyvern in the process, and she gripped the reigns with the grace of a first time flier. But the weapon did not stop, was not shot for but a scheme. It zeroed in steadily on a target, beautiful in the arch that it produced, all curves as if though meant to imitate an eager lover. 

And it hit.

Bullseye.

The animal fell quick, iris eradicated by steel, the piercing shot now lodged into its skull. A stag such as this one kept antlers bigger than a wyvern's, and, as if to mock it, the fabric tied around the arrow now adorned its head as though meant to grow a third horn. All that remained was a sharp gasp, the vanished trampling of hoofs, and the fleeing creature was stopped dead in its tracks. 

Silent.

Still. 

Up above, Claude cheered, bow hugged half-heartedly while the other part of his beating pulse glared daggers into Byleth’s eye sockets. It was a stare not born from anger, but killed by the fickle joy of claiming first place. Scheming, in the very sense of the word.

“One to Zero, Byleth! You'd better be quick!” 

She stared below, once more, towards the soft trickle of red, a contrast to the dirt yellow and forest green. Hunting as sport – certainly no event a mere mercenary would ever partake in. But then she was far more than that, no matter what her simple hunting garbs seemed to indicate.

A sigh, then, deep and old rattled out of her. The type of breath her Father would have let go of, and she steeled her gaze to see her prey. With the ongoing commotion the birds took to the sky, screaming songs of death. 

Ravens such as these flocked to the shadows, but now crooned about incoming demise, and she idly wondered if Edelgard had ever listened to them during the war. If she had planned to kill deer but not the fur-wearing kind with their endless cawing at her back and call.

No matter, now.

Such thoughts were not worth the cost of burning. 

So Byleth spit out the fire in her lungs instead, kissed the open flames to her palm and let them soar.

“Likewise, Love.” 

And she drove deep into the thicket, not minding the past-brushing branches that were eager to nip at her skin, nor the leafs that would rather embrace her and stay tousled in her hair than make way for beasts. 

In the forest, the prey was on the run. Her wyvern hit the ground with sharp claws, digging into dirt to keep steady, then pressed onwards with old but well trained muscles. Claude had hardly a sight on her anymore, would have to guess which rustling bushes belonged to them instead of any competitors, and that gave her an edge over him, because now he could not scheme against her, now he was airbound and clueless despite the advantage in wyvern riding.

Like this her dragon bound kin resembled a lizard, and trudged onwards with slithering movements. Byleth readied her bow upon gaining sight upon a group of does on the run, of which one sheltered a fawn, which she made sure to drive away from the other deer.   
With that done, the doe cutting a sharp left turn when Byleth was headed right, she counted three remaining deer. None of them were the golden stag, but then a horn would have alerted her to him having been sighted, and it all was woefully silent in regards to other opponents. 

Here, only she hunted – or at least that is what she had imagined, hot on the tail of her prey as she grabbed for an arrow from her back, when pink tresses and scaly skin came into view, scattering the herd but not before a hand axe was thrown with calm expertise, felling one unfortunate soul with a crunching, gargling sound.

Byleth came to a halt, hurriedly, as her fellow friend trotted over lazily, arrow in hand, and shoved the tip into the open gash of the slain animal. After, Hilda made sure to clean off her boots of any excess blood as best as she could, while her wyvern licked its split tongue over the scaly outside of its mouth.

“That's one for you!”

Byleth huffed.

“...you stole my kill.”

And Hilda, in turn, laughed. No snort, as that was unbefitting of a lady, and yet her giggle had something filthy about it.

“I didn't know ‘Thanks Hilda, you're the best!’, sounds like that, coming from you.” 

The quip went unappreciated, as Byleth simply shook her head, a blank grimace of an expression on her face. Her attention quickly went from the slain game to the obvious question on her tongue.

“Where's Leonie?”

At that, Hilda made a face full of scrutiny.

“Threw up, ugh. So we had to land, laze about. Boooring, if you ask me. But at least we could see some of Claude's people miss their shots, heh.”

“As if you would have lifted a finger.”

“Hey! I did – just now!” A stomp in anger was as much befitting of a woman of her status as throwing a temper tantrum would have been, and yet as Leonie stumbled out of the bushes Hilda could not help herself but roll her eyes.

Her companion, at least, humbled her by simply lifting a middle finger instead of uttering a curse a sailor would be proud of.

“...urgh. I can't believe I signed up for this, should have taken the horse instead.”

At that, Byleth shrugged her shoulders. “I prefer horseback, too. Mercenaries rarely travel through the air.” 

“Anyhow", she continued, sitting straighter upright in her saddle, “how are you two faring? Any information?”

Leonie, noticing the small pool of blood at Hilda's feet, simply jabbed her thumb in the direction of her arrows. “Got one at the start, and I see Hilda just got one right now. That makes two for us. Marianne and Ignatz are at one, last time we saw them.” 

Upon seeing the trickle of red expand Hilda hopped away, a small yelp escaping from her throat. Still, she took the axe out of the flesh like she had done nothing else, ever, in her life. It came out of the bone with a sickening sound. “Cyril came through. Apparently he and Lysithea are taking count of the successful hunts, and making sure that nothing goes to waste.”

“Smart", Byleth nodded.

“Heh. You tell that Lorenz and his holier than thou attitude. ‘Yes, that here deer just up and ran away, arrow inside and all!’.”

At that, she raised a brow in confusion. “Lorenz? You saw him, too?”

“Heard him, more like”, Leonie retorted, slowly getting back up on the wyvern's back. “when he collided head first with a pine tree. A _lone_ pine tree.”

“...aww, you don't have to rub it in like that, Leonie.”

Despite her words, Hilda once more found herself in a giggling fit, and started fiddling with her braids in order to calm down. It worked, weakly, the grin on her face still bright and proud. 

“I, for one, appreciate the information", Byleth replied, herself donning a small smile of her own.

“But I'll need to get going, there's no time to waste. Good luck!”

A kick of her sole into the side of her wyvern, and the beast sprinted onward, full speed ahead through the shrubbery. Leonie and Hilda were left behind, but when Byleth turned she could still make out the blue feathers of the arrow, and the determined gazes of her friends.

~☆~

A hunt is, as the veterans say, more than a game. 

It is war. 

Man against nature. 

Byleth softly remembers Jeralt giving her the first skinning knife, mouth rattling on and on about what becomes of flesh and blood, of skin and bones, of fur and feathers. That one should always honour a kill, that no blood should be shed for simple entertainment. 

Maybe the ashen moniker came with the way she handled all of this information, how precisely she could savour the information, how easy it was to recreate the movements, even when she could taste the metal on her red-chewed lips.

“Like this?”, she recalled asking, holding up a pelted rabbit, with a lucky rabbit foot just off to the side. 

When he nodded she put the animal down, only to hand her Father the furred foot, exclaiming with a blank expression “It's a gift for you. Do you like it? The merchants in the last town said it brings luck.”

It had been a macabre present, and yet he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead and ruffled her hair until she had looked like a mess. 

“_It's perfect_.”

Of course, whatever luck she had wanted to hand to him had not lasted. But as a hare crept out from the underbrush she could feel a bit of it return to her. It ran in front of her once noticing, nose going up and down in curiosity instead of fear. She thought that, perhaps, it could sense that it was not part of the prey, this time. Safe in front of a yellow-teethed predator.

So it scurried on, further through the woods, a zigzag labyrinth of elaborate movements. Interested, Byleth made to follow it, spotted its soft brown fur through the branches, steered her wyvern firther onward as best she could, until finally-

A clearing. 

Wide, open plains, and grazing deer.  
The rabbit ducked away, back into the forest, then, and Byleth made sure to search for any other riders, but there were only far away specks of brown in the sky, neither of which was flying in her direction. 

She had the area for herself, had any opportunity to hunt, and although there was no gold in-between the stags and does to be found, they were yet all undisturbed. With the exception of a doe donning a golden-yellow adorned arrow in her rump, at least. 

Byleth found her laying down, breath uneven, obviously hurt but with a will to outlive her injury. 

“Did Lorenz get to you...?” 

Her words were but a whisper, all attention focused on the hurt female, and she softly steered back her wyvern. If she decided to fly high into the clouds, then the others would scatter, leaving only the weak link behind. 

“...you're a strong one...” 

She sighed, bit her lip after, chewed on it. 

“...shouldn't you count, already?” 

She shook her head, yet, grasped the reigns tighter and gave the command to rise. Short but powerful bursts of the wyvern's wingpower let the two of them rise once more, and the old girl under Byleth did her best to heave them up high as fast as possible.

As expected, the deer began to stir, alert at once, the hurt female one of them. 

When they spotted the beast overhead, they made to flee, hooves digging into the mossy grass, tearing up the dirt underneath in their hurry. To Byleth's surprise, the injured doe rose to her feet as well, slower than the rest, but in no way ready to surrender the life she had fought so hard to keep.

Byleth procured her bow and an arrow, let her fingers feel the softness of the blue feathers, eyes trained on the neck of the once-lucky one, and counted the seconds. The doe gave her best, got through every stumble, found her footing again and again, even as the rest of the herd gained their distance. 

Perhaps it was no rabbit foot that she possessed, but luck ran out quick these days, faster than gold, and Byleth re-adjusted her aim at the last second.

Shot, then.

And hit her target the same second a weapon crafted from rope and stone hit the wings of her wyvern, coiling around like a constricting snake, dragging both of them down as though they had become the prey after all. 

And they fell.

~☆~

Byleth felt her back ache, eyesight a garbled mess of colour splotches. They painted a blurry picture, and adjusting to the light stung as a headache flared alive. Still, she knew that she had to get up, and grinded her own teeth together as she made to pull herself free from branches and thorns. 

Byleyh felt her cheek get cut, the sharp hurt of red blossoming as she made to cup it, only to retract her hands upon seeing the dirty state of them. Getting on her feet hurt, but it being possible at all was a good sign. She found support on a tree, held her forehead and sighed heavily.

It took a second or two, but eventually her vision cleared, and she started to look for her wyvern. The beast had ripped through the thick layer of leafs and branches overhead, so they must have tumbled into the edge of the forest. 

Her old girl at trouble rising, stumbled more than once, but once she stood on her feet again she shook the entirety of her body, wincing after. 

“It's okay”, Byleth muttered. “It's going to be okay, shhh.”

Feeling the wyvern trot on over towards her, even though it was with a limp, relieved Byleth, and she carefully patted her on the head, scratching the scales behind her antlers soothingly.

“We made it.” 

A purr was her answer, scratchy but soft. She wanted to do more, check her partner thoroughly, bit the beast perked up at the sounds of wing flutter, powerful movement that creates winds that brushed against their bruises.

Soon after, a white giant landed, its rider already off of its back before the beast’s claws hit the ground. 

“...Claude?”

He rushed over, feet a flurry only meant to carry him towards her, all thoughts about the competition forgotten as he came to a halt before her form, arms open wide but not gripping onto her as though a hug could let her shatter into a million pieces. 

“...Byleth...”

There was a far grace to his movement, a static, stoic nature grafted from stone and stars. Old, in the way that the firmament was old, a wise wonder that put constellations into wounds. So when his clothed fingers connected with the cut that cluttered up the space of her cheeks it was not the coldness of wind-hugged leather that she felt, but an emotion too distant to call desire and too near to just be love.  


“Are you...?” 

Some would call it _worry_, for it was born from fear and clutched his heart with a hammering beat, fingers flexing in a fierce fashion. Such actions stung, but not due to the strain that was put on the seeping, ever-growing stain which coloured her flesh crimson. 

It was in his _eyes_. 

That startled shock with all its specks of green, unnaturally wide and so naturally befitting of a forest. Byleth made to pick out the leafs from her light tresses of hair, but found him doing it before she had a chance to snatch them up, busying his hand so as to not crush her to his form. 

“I'm alright.” 

She could crush on him once more, for the nervous chuckle that rose from his throat which would be befitting of a boy, but not a man afraid to lose his could-be-wife. It drew a smile from her own lips, thin but honest, pressed together like a would-be-kiss that she refused to press to his mouth.

Instead, she decided to clutch at his gloved hand, the one holding all the leafs akin to whispered treasures. He let them fall then, eager to hold of her what he could, and his voice spoke of such silly tales from fairies.

“You're my shooting star, you know that?” 

And she huffed, undignified, a sound so scarce that he did not think it belonged in her throat. 

“Ever the schemer, aren't you?” 

There was a lilt of irony to it, forged from the blood in her mouth that stained her teeth just so. But a bitten tongue could still talk, and red lips could still kiss.  
She did neither.

Instead, she let her fingers curl over the leather as though she could undress all of him with the action, could unravel even the sides he kept hidden from the world, those pained and those prideful. Nails scratched over what little flesh was exposed, his wrist a sudden imitation of an erogenous zone, veins pumping blood hard enough for her to feel his pulse. 

He gulped, then, adam's apple bobbing up and down akin to a poisonous wish in paradise. 

“...hnn, Byleth, you-"

The rest of his words were swallowed thickly, and like a lovesick fool he made to capture her lips with his own, bodies hidden by woods and the natural wards that forests supplied. With the leafs and branches overhead lulling them into an embrace of shadows he let his arms circle around her softly shuddering form-

A whistle, shrill and sour, rang out. The sort of sound that tears situations apart, and so she stopped her sweet penetrations as though hit by a searing hot heat. An exclamation of victory, the political kind, and Byleth drew her body towards the origin of it all.

“It seems that someone found the golden stag", she exclaimed, voice more tinny than the metal shriek had been. 

Coming to terms with their situation, he held onto her shoulders. 

“What _happened_?”

“I...”, she gulped down the red saliva, but could not swallow the fear entirely. “...don't know.” 

His gaze was inquisitive, turning from a mixture of lust and love quickly into one of deductive interest, and he began to look her up and down before focusing in on the right wing of her wyvern.

“...sabotage", was what he muttered after, glove gliding over the tattered and bruised skin just slightly. He earned a hiss for his trouble, and recoiled immediately.

“Your wyvern won't fly anymore today. We need to get this old girl to rest, and be tended to, immediately.”

Byleth nodded solemnly, giving soothing rubs to her wyvern, an unspoken reassurance.

“I'll head back with you, let's make sure that nothing else happens.”

“Is that oka-"

“Shhh.”

He silenced her with a gloved kiss, put his hand flat over her mouth, kissed the ring on top of the leather after. 

“Everything for you.”

Not caring about etiquette he took her hand in his, made sure to feel the weight of it all by giving it a squeeze not once, but twice. He winked at her after, seeking out the worry in her facial features and replying with nothing but a cheeky grin.

“If someone asks, you're barely able to walk.”  
And he made to come even closer, put an arm around her shoulder, urging her softly to lean into him. She did, with not a single word of protest, at that. His comfort was a warm one, one that smelled of nature and nurture, and lulled her into a sweet sense of safety.

Beside him, every fall could be feathered.   
The walk onwards was a quiet one, though littered with helpless touches. A ruffling of her hair here, a squeeze of her shoulder there. Claude let his thumb run over her side, checked the wound on her cheek. She was sure that, if she would ask, he would carry her the rest of the way back.

“Barbarossa could help you, too, you know", he asked, and yet the hand holding onto her side did not move a muscle.

“...ah, that's alright.” The fact that she preferred staying by his side went unspoken, but he felt her lips graze the shell of his ear. “Thank you."

She did not go as far as to press a kiss to his throat, but he could live with the glance that she sent his way. And he gulped, tugged at the edge of his shirt as though the forest had turned into a burning plain. 

Perhaps, in some form, it had. He made sure to inspect every shadow as though they could be a flame intent to destroy, twirled an arrow idly between his fingers even as the rest of him was occupied with giving Byleth comfort. 

When he felt a bristle in the underbrush, he immediately made to grab his bow. With his other hand, the one still holding the yellow tipped arrow, he carefully dragged Byleth behind himself, so that he was in front. Both wyverns, meanwhile, took cautious stances, no matter the injury of Byleth’s beast. 

The rustling continued, louder, bigger, straining Claude's nerves, his breath now a laboured calm, trained in the arts of waiting. One hand yet clutched the bow, drew it taut, arrow positioned dead centre towards whatever deemed it necessary to seek out this path. 

The second shining fur presented itself, he shot on reflex.

Missed.

And with all of its golden glimmer the priced stag made to flee the scene. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Update, at last!
> 
> I'm sorry if I'm a bit rusty. Truth be told, I've lost my spark for liking Claudeleth for a while now, but Stars Shatter is still my baby.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. ♡
> 
> (I'll try to figure out how to edit out the two chapters that don't have actual chapters, without losing all your comments that made me feel so much better.)


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